


STRIKE Team Delta: 26 missions

by lux_et_astra



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Budapest, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Coffee, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, IKEA, M/M, Minor Character Death, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov gets a hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, Red Room (Marvel), SHIELD, Starbucks, Strike Team Delta, Team as Family, Whump, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_et_astra/pseuds/lux_et_astra
Summary: 26 missions STRIKE Team Delta went on together, from Abidjan to Zagreb.Natalia looked at the man, at the way out he was offering her, at the sniper rifle slung over his back, and took his hand.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Bobbi Morse & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson/Audrey Nathan
Comments: 34
Kudos: 69





	1. Abidjan, Côte D'Ivoire (25/12/2004)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come on then, Natty, let’s get on with it.”_

Natalia looked at the man, at the way out he was offering her, at the sniper rifle slung over his back, and took his hand.

Clinton Francis Barton, alias Hawkeye, born June 18th 1984. Son of Edith and Harold Barton; both deceased. One brother, Charles Bernard ‘Barney’ Barton, alias Trickshot, whereabouts and status unknown. Barton was trained in Carson’s Travelling Circus, and joined SHIELD age 18. Natalia had done her research.

She herself had been trained in the Red Room since her parents died in 1985, so Barton’s sob story really didn’t affect her the way it probably did most people. Barton had too big a heart for Natalia’s preference - he was a sniper, an assassin, but here he was, not killing her. Barton had been sent after Natalia - the Black Widow, the Slavic Shadow, the Red Death - and a rogue Red Room operative - Eva - who had escaped to Africa.

Natalia had been in southern Spain when Barton caught up to her, running from Eva, out of ammo and desperate. Barton had had a perfect shot, but he made a different call, and now he was letting her lean on him, promising her free ammo, a job, a place to sleep with better human rights and better pay - but she would need to help him. Be his partner. He explained it while they moved as quickly as Natalia’s leg wound would allow her, heading for a SHIELD safe house in Málaga.

“My handler, Coulson, is yelling in my ear right now.” He gave a rueful smile, joking with her like she didn’t have the blood of hundreds of men on her hands, like she was a friend. “I was supposed to kill you. But - okay. You’re coming with me, and I’m going to fight for you to be given a job in SHIELD. Working with me and Phil, doing - well - similar to what you’ve been doing, but knowing that you’ll be saving lives, doing what we do for the right reason. Phil’s basically given in by now-” he winced, and even Natalia could hear the tinny expletives coming from the hearing aid stroke comms unit in his ear, presumably from Phil Coulson, his handler. “Okay, maybe not basically given in, but he will.” He flashed her a toothy, charming grin, and Natalia had no idea what to think to that. “You can join me. We can be a STRIKE team - probably Delta.” He looked proud at that - it was more than Natalia could comprehend. She didn’t know SHIELD, and for all her research, she didn’t know Barton.

“I know you won’t want to go against your friend, but I do need to take out Eva, ‘cause she’s gone kinda off the deep end - she’s taken a primary school hostage, demanding John Danforth - he was at the UN building in Abidjan and was advised to stay there while we sort out the crazy Russian terrorist.” He rubbed Natalia’s shoulder, in a manner almost.. comforting. She had no idea what to make of it. “So, you in?”

Natalia steeled herself with a deep breath, debating the merits of agreeing or disagreeing.  
“I will help you kill Eva. She has always been.. a little off the deep end, as you say.” She took a breath. “She is one of the oldest operatives, and killed two of the new Howling Commandos. In the forties. She was never the same, according to the others. I only ask that you do what you have said, and let me stay at SHIELD.” Safe from the Red Room, safe from Madame B, was the unspoken agreement that passed between them when Barton nodded.  
“Come on then, Natty, let’s get on with it.”

They reached the safe house; Natalia met Coulson. He seemed polite. Kind towards Barton, cordial towards her. He seemed to be exasperated with Barton, but accepted her. He had made a bed for her, and brought out the med kit, before they arrived.

\--

A few days later, when Natalia was ready to walk and the SHIELD agents had had time to charter a plane to Abidjan, her and Barton left the safehouse for the first time to get to the airfield and head out.

It was somewhat freeing, being able to take a plane without going through five different channels, at least two of which were somewhat illegal, and creating a different identity every city she visited. Here, with Barton, she was allowed to be Natalia Alianovna Romanova - though the name he put on her ticket was Natasha Romanoff, and she understood why. There were easily fabricated reasons why Tasha was with Clint. A Romanova and a Barton, though, were less likely to interact.

When they landed in Abidjan, Natalia was struck by the difference in Barton. Gone was the easy-going, barely twenty year-old who had been joking with Coulson and shooting her sideways smiles. Now, she saw Hawkeye - he was driven, and focused. He still had time for quips, and throwaway smiles - he was still charming, but more protective, his eyes tighter, and his glances were more often to sightlines than to her.

It was unlikely that Eva was able to tap into flight and taxi records from a primary school, so they didn’t bother with aliases as they made their way to the school. Natalia gave Barton the run-down on Eva’s contacts and the level of firepower she would probably be packing, and Barton gave her the summary of the plan and the moral standards she was expected to uphold. 

As the taxi reached a point about a block away from the school, Barton tipped the driver and pulled Natalia out of the car, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“There’s a building in the process of being demolished, and it has quite a bit of rubble and, more importantly, cover. We’re going to get in there, set up, and I’ll take out Eva,” he unzipped his duffel a little to show her his bow and sniper rifle, and a pleasing collection of guns, “then we take out her muscle, and leave the kids to local PD.” He looked at her, smiled suddenly, and squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

He took out Eva. She was in sight - foolishly - waving her arms about, obviously enraged, when Barton put a bullet in her chest. Natalia couldn’t even bring herself to feel sympathy. Eva was a terrible operative, and a terrible person. She was clearly insane.

When they got back, Coulson gave her a genuine smile, and that alone was worth more than a thousand dollars to Natalia.


	2. Budapest, Hungary (17/04/2005)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The mark- no, Ivan, as he insisted they call him, never stood a chance._

Natalia- no, Galina, smiled, a sweet, disarming smile, so different from the baring of teeth the assassin Black Widow called a smile. Barton- no, Petrov, slung an arm around her shoulders, laughing a loud, low laugh, so different from the subtle, occasional snorts the sniper Hawkeye would let out. 

The mark- no, Ivan, as he insisted they call him, never stood a chance. Galina’s dainty frame and low cut dress, paired with Petrov’s golden hair and golden nature? The pair charmed him completely, and he didn’t see anything wrong with leading the two undercover agents into his safe room, letting Galina leave for the toilet, and allowing Petrov to sit by Ivan’s computer.

Galina was shed as soon as she was out of Ivan’s sight, and Natalia opened up the ceiling to retrieve their stash of guns, and the duffel with their tac suits. Stripping out of the provocative dress, she paused before putting on the tac suit she’d been fitted for.

This was STRIKE team Delta’s second ever op together. Budapest, Hungary. Mark: Ivan Smirnov, the son of an OGPU agent, had fled to a family home in Budapest when the Kremlin began targeting him. Natalia had been sent in along with Barton - whom she still had her reservations about - to find the information stored on his hard drive, and if necessary, to take him out. 

It wasn’t the mission that gave Natalia pause - it hadn’t been, since she was eleven and deemed old enough for missions - it was the organisation she was working for. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. A ridiculous name - Peggy Carter had filled in words that may as well have been nonsense, so the initials could be a tribute to her dead ex-boyfriend - a faceless, nameless organisation working globally, with full autonomy. How could anyone oppose them when they were everywhere?

Natalia had very few morals - she had been raised a cutthroat assassin - but she had been forced to join a team with a man she barely knew, working under the supervision of another man she barely knew. Her closest friends at SHIELD were Barton and Coulson - and Maria, Masha, the girl who brought her lunch. She heard rumours about her Masha - that she was moving up, she was better than Hand, than Coulson, that Fury had his eyes on her - but to Natalia, Masha was a friendly face. And it was Masha’s quiet insistence that had Natalia agreeing to this op, going against Mother Russia like this.

It was a little bit about the mission. Natalia had been a child of Mother Russia since 1984. Now here she was - Easter, 2005 - turning against her country. Barton - a 20 year old American - had no idea how hesitant she had been to go on this op. Or maybe he did, the man was an enigma - he acted the class clown, but she had seen him kill a man nearly two miles away, headshot, clean between the eyes. He used a bow and arrow - if it were anyone else, it would seem archaic, outdated, patently ridiculous, but the blond man used the medieval weapon like he was born to it. From what little she’d gleaned from Coulson about his childhood, maybe he was.

Natalia donned the tac suit, holstering her guns - her Makarov, the Beretta M9 Masha had pressed into her hands, her collection of knives - and fitted a silencer on her Glock, cocking it, holding it in one hand while she dragged Barton’s duffel with the other. As she neared the safe room, she spotted Ivan’s surprised expression and buried a 9mm in his forehead.

At Barton’s sigh, she tossed him his duffel, kicked Smirnov under the computer table, and holstered her Glock to clap her hands at Barton, impatient.

“It does not take this long to download a hard drive,” she chided in Hungarian, “you are slow.” As soon as Barton unplugged his SHIELD drive from the computer, she dragged him out of the safe room, hitting the button to close the room back up.

“Leaving the Kremlin a present?” Barton quipped - in English - his American twang grating on Natalia’s ears. “Or hoping they won’t find him?”

Natalia growled and kicked his duffel, spurring him to start loading up. He headed into the bathroom to change, and she chanced a look out of one of Smirnov’s tinted windows, her heart sinking.

“Idióta, people are here,” she called to Barton, switching to English, hoping his ears were in. “Kremlin or mafia, I cannot tell yet, but hostile definitely.” She pulled her Makarov from its holster, feeling more comfortable with its familiar weight in her hands. “Get changed quickly.”

When Barton exited the bathroom, his mechanical bow in his hands, Natalia would never admit to the fact that she was pleased to see him. There was something comforting about the fact that he was there for her. “Come, -” she was cut off by the shattering of glass, and a bullet impacting Smirnov’s wall. Barton hopped out of the window first, firing on the hostiles, while Natalia secured the hard drive in a pocket of her tac suit and stashed the duffels back in the ceiling. No SHIELD issue equipment should be found by enemies.

When she exited the house, Barton was unconscious and there were Kremlin operatives searching his pockets. Natalia cocked her Makarov, ignoring her trembling hands, and began to open fire.

Barton only stirred once throughout the entire firefight, and that was when Natalia managed to blow up one of the hostile trucks and the light near-blinded her. They kept coming, more arriving in trucks and cars, but she pushed down her fear and protected Barton. Once she was relatively sure she had put down all of the soldiers there, she grabbed Barton and hopped in one of the cars, driving as fast as she could to their safe house.

Natalia had killed dozens of Kremlin operatives. Barton killed three men.

_“Just like Budapest all over again!”_

_“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last two line taken from Avengers: Assemble directly.  
> Obviously I don't own any characters/organisations here, I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.  
> -lux


	3. Cairo, Egypt (23/08/2005)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _An extraction plan sounded nice right about now._

Natalia paused in her shooting to wonder how on earth the mission had gone this wrong, and was rewarded with a bullet grazing her shoulder - far too close for comfort. Barton’s presence on her left reassured her that he was watching her back, but the lack of an extraction team grated, not for the first time.

She hadn’t even known that SHIELD’s normal protocol was that there was an extraction team in place. She had been making her own way back to base since her first mission in ‘94, and until she had started keeping an eye on Masha’s mission reports, she had had no idea about extraction plans. Natalia had cornered her when Masha got back from an op, and questioned her about the extraction. Had the mission gone so badly that Masha had needed to be picked up?

Masha’s answer confused Natalia, more than anything. Extraction plans had never been something common, never a right, only a privilege, if the operative was too badly damaged to make their own way home. According to Masha, Barton had never had an extraction plan, and when Natalia was taken on as his partner, that extended to her.

It didn’t bother her much - she hadn’t needed extraction with any frequency as a Red Room operative, but she worried for Barton. He was only twenty-one. He was far from as experienced as her - she couldn’t deny his skills, his skills were almost on par with hers, which was unheard of in a non-enhanced until now - but he lacked experience. He would do little things, things that reminded her that he had never been trained the same way she had. He moved with the grace of a gymnast, not a ballerina. He was never slow to show affection, physical or otherwise, yet he flinched from men he wasn’t used to, and hid behind jokes and sunglasses. He generally had plasters stuck on his nose or arms, and he would stop to pet every dog he saw. He had an innocence to him that seemed to disappear when he went into mission mode, when he could take out a target behind him without even looking with his bow and arrow. He always made his way back.

Yet he got injured so easily, his human body not designed for the fights he put it through. He struggled his way back, usually with some wound - she was reminded of the utter terror she’d locked away at Budapest when he was lying, prone on the ground - and even now, she had a bullet graze on her shoulder, he had a through-and-through in his side. 

They had come here to break up a smuggling ring, and now they were trapped in what was once their cover, Natalia’s leg caught under rubble, Barton’s bow broken. They were firing, hoping to take out the men before they ran out of ammo, hoping to get Natalia free before the men caught up to them. She was down to Masha’s Beretta’s last mag, the bags of their ammo she had stashed a few days earlier decimated somewhere in the room, under the bricks and the section of ceiling that had fallen in.

The air was heavy with mortar dust, and Natalia could barely see the men she was shooting, though Barton was nailing his targets as always. The cracks in the ceiling tiles above her and Barton worried her, and she struggled more with her leg, freeing herself and pulling Barton towards the exit in time for the ceiling to come crashing down behind them.  
Natalia was crouched down over Clint’s body, memories of Budapest flooding back. She knew she wouldn’t be able to wake him by yelling - his ears and her comms had been shorted out with an EMP early in the op - and she didn’t have water to splash on him or light to flash him with.

She was alone, with an unconscious body to protect, dozens of men to evade, and the plane home had left without them half an hour ago.

An extraction plan sounded nice right about now.

Natalia pushed back the fear - you are made of marble - and slung Clint over her shoulder, surprised at how light he was. She would need to talk with Coulson about getting him to eat more than coffee and sandwiches.

She had a clear exit to the roof, where men were probably going to be waiting, or she could wait it out here, where she could hold the fort in this one corner, maybe barricade her and Clint in with bits of the ceiling, and make her escape later.

Natalia waited for two hours. That was as long as she could make it without needing something to drink. She uncurled herself from the position she’d been hunched in, her muscles screaming at her, and pushed away the rubble she’d created her hiding spot with. Picking the still-unconscious Clint up, she flinched when her fingers came away red from lifting his head. She knew head wounds bled more than was necessary; she knew the blood was sluggish now, and he would probably be fine. She still worried.

Clint slung over her shoulder again, Natalia made her way up to the roof, drinking in the clear air and nearly sinking to her knees from relief. The air behind metres of rubble had been thick, dusty, and her breaths had been rattling before she stepped outside. Sunlight, dying and feeble, lit the roof in a half-light that made Natalia’s pale skin almost glow. It was nearing sunset, and the last vestiges of sunlight showed her the fire escape, which she descended very carefully.

Once on the streets of Cairo, dragging around an unconscious man would be much more conspicuous, so Natalia unashamedly hotwired a car, dumping Clint in the backseat. The car had a bottle of water in the glove compartment, and she drank it greedily, savouring each drop.

Natalia made it to a town on the outskirts of Al Minya, by which time night had well and truly fallen. She found a local kind enough to lend her his phone, Clint still stashed in the backseat, and called Coulson with an update, then Masha.

As soon as she had restocked the fuel in the car and woken Clint - who woke, thank god - she began following the Nile again, but only made it a few kilometres before the phone she had appropriated rang. Natalia had never been so glad to hear Masha’s voice.

“I’ve come to pick you up, Romanoff. Get Barton, get your kit, and get ready to come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I don't own any characters/organisations here, I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.  
> -lux


	4. Devon, UK (15/04/2006)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m here to ask Jemma a quick favour?”_

Natalia huffed, and checked her watch. She had been sitting in Clint’s sniper nest for the last hour and a half, and he had told her he would be back in fifteen minutes. They had been trailing the mark through half of Europe - they’d gone through Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and now they were in Devon, and she had finally settled, in a cosy house in a small town. It wasn’t her house - they would need to set up another sniper nest if she decided to move back to her house - she was staying with a friend, literally a block away from where she lived semi-permanently, but she seemed pretty set - from what Natalia could see, at least.

The phone rang. Natalia put down the binoculars, irritable, and picked it up, scowling at the device.

“Where have you been, Barton?”

_“Hey, Nat. We have a problem.”_

Natalia was not amused.

“Yes, we have a problem. I have been here, in the British weather, on a roof, with no shelter, for the last hour and a half!” She took a breath, calming herself. “What is your problem, Clint?”

 _“So, Becker is moving back to her house. And, I may have been made.”_ The sounds of children’s laughter echoed across the call, tinny and small. _“They recognised me from my circus days. They’ve been studying America in the 90s and they did a sector on entertainment, and somehow they found a picture of Carson’s on the internet, and-”_

Natalia cut him off with a sigh, already getting to her feet and beginning to move around their equipment.  
“I’ll see if we have any viable buildings, but the roofs won’t be as easy to access. Becker didn’t see the kids see you?” She zipped up a bag and slung it over her shoulder, the phone tucked into the crook of her neck.

 _“Nah, it’s okay - I heard her on the phone in the supermarket to her friend saying she was moving back, and she was gone and I was at the check-out before the kids mobbed me. I’ll come help you get the things packed up - aw, milk, no,”_ he was sighing mournfully when Natalia hung up on him.

She grumbled as she assessed the buildings they had marked as having suitable spots for a sniper nest - there were two. One was a residential block, and the other was an office building. The office building had security preventing anyone from using the roof, but the residential allowed residents to use their pass. Natalia opened the list of residents, out of pure curiosity, and froze when she noticed a certain name.

Bobbi Morse, one of Clint’s closest friends and, by extension, hers, had mentioned a scientist named Jemma Simmons quite a bit, and here was not only Jemma Simmons (part time resident), but also Anne and William Simmons. Quickly searching through the SHIELD database, Natalia confirmed that Jemma Simmons was currently a student at the Academy - and so was likely to allow them to use her roof.

Two heavy duffel bags over each shoulder, Natalia was still barely out of breath when she knocked on the door of the Simmons’ third floor apartment. She flashed Anne a smile.  
“I’m here to ask Jemma a quick favour?”

Jemma Simmons was smaller than Natalia had been expecting. She was seventeen - still so very young - and she was very anxious. Natalia had no idea how to deal with her. “Hello. I’m sorry for dropping in like this. I’m N- Natasha Romanoff. I’m a friend of Bobbi’s. I’m here on an operation and I’d like to ask to use your roof?”

Simmons’ expression was frozen in shock, awe and confusion, but she unfroze at the request of the roof.  
“Whatever will help you with your mission,” she ended up stammering, standing from her seat on her bed to rifle through some drawers to find her pass. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Bobbi, is she an alumni?” Her hands were twitching, and Natasha fought the urge to smile.

“An alumni, and an admirer of your work.” She gave in and smiled at the young scientist, pocketing the pass. “I’ll return this to you, and I’m sure Fury will be pleased to hear of your cooperation.” Natasha hid her smirk at Simmons’ squeak, leaving the room to make her exit, nodding graciously at the parents.

The roof was the perfect spot, and Natasha let Clint up with a genuine grin. “How were the kids?” She dumped a bag into his arms, leading him to the spot she’d picked. “The Amazing Hawkeye, in the flesh. I bet they were thrilled.”

Through Clint’s sigh and long-winded rant, she set up quietly, occasionally nodding or laughing at something he said. 

“And anyway, all that just meant I couldn’t get back to you sooner.” He pouted, over-exaggerating his annoyance, but it made Natasha’s chest feel fluttery, like when Masha had given her her Beretta, or when Coulson told her she’d done a good job. Natasha liked knowing Clint did actually want her around. “Hey, how’d you get up here? The lock hadn’t been picked, and you had a pass.”

Natasha snorted. They had finally got to a perfect spot, had set up, the target was in sight.  
“Take the shot, and I’ll tell you about Jemma Simmons while we pack up.” Clint was hilarious, well-meaning, and a great person, but he got off-task quite a bit.

“Okay, jeez. Sorry, Nat.” Clint dropped into mission mode, crouching with the sniper rifle, and squeezed the trigger, satisfied when he saw the mark drop. “Done now. Say, isn’t that the scientist Bobbi noticed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jemma Simmons is from Marvel's Agents of SHIELD, a hecking awesome TV show, if you were wondering.
> 
> Obviously I don't own any characters/organisations here, I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.  
> -lux


	5. Edinburgh, UK (06/05/2006)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’ve never been to IKEA, Clint."_

“One more song lyric out of you and I will castrate you with one finger, birdbrain,” Natasha seethed, her knuckles white around the steering wheel. “I put the radio on to listen to the news, not to listen to you screeching ‘Never gonna give you up’ at the top of your lungs.”

Clint laughed, the sound overly loud in the small car, and Natasha shook her head. “I don’t know what Coulson expected. He should have let me bring my gun,” she griped, slamming her head against the headrest in frustration. “Then at least I could shoot you.”

“Come on, Natty, we both know Coulson loves me too much to let you shoot me.” He flashed her a sweet smile, one arm hanging out of the car, the crisp Scottish air making his hair more of a mess than it usually was. “Plus, it’s just a song. I think it’s the traffic making you antsy.”

Natasha huffed, knowing that Clint was probably right.  
“I just don’t see why Coulson needed to send us here. It’s barely a mission. Surely they could send someone else?”

Clint’s snicker annoyed her more than his singing had, and she punched him lightly.  
“Okay, okay!” He shifted, the coffee cup in his hand spilling a little. “Aw, coffee. Nat, look what you made me do.” He huffed and shook his head, his little smile betraying him. “Look, Coulson sent us here to set up a safehouse. If it’s us doing it, then it’s only us that know about it. Coulson said, pick a spot in Edinburgh. We picked the house, we bought it, and now we’re going to IKEA to get furniture for it, because someone decided they wanted to do it themselves-!” Natasha slung her arm around his neck, grabbing him in a headlock, and they were silent for a few moments before they both started snickering.

“I’ve never been to IKEA, Clint. I've never bought a house or furniture or set up. I’ve lived in safehouses, but never my own, never one I’ve put together myself, designed the traps, the safety measures, the cameras.” Natasha’s face was turned away, and she watched the traffic with a feigned intensity. Clint sighed, and turned, wrapping his arm around Natasha.

She flinched, at first; Clint squeezed a little and she relaxed into his hold. “I have to keep my eyes on the road,” she protested weakly, but he waved a hand flippantly, rolling up his window and hugging her.  
“We’ve been stuck here for fifteen minutes, it’s not going to start moving as soon as you hug me.” Clint rested his head on Natasha’s shoulder, pleased when she did the same to him. “This is for us. Even Coulson doesn’t know exactly where it is. It’s for the two of us, and if we ever get another teammate, for them too.”

They stayed like that for a few seconds before the car in front of them started to move, and the car behind let out a long blast on the horn. Both assassins jumped, and the car shook. Clint picked up his coffee as Natasha hit the gas, pressing both of them back in their seats. The coffee spilt over Clint’s hand, and he hissed as he transferred the cup to his other hand so he could frantically shake his poor, burnt hand. “Aw, coffee, no,” he whined, while Natasha snickered behind him. 

\--

Stood in the lobby of IKEA, Natasha looked up at the escalator rising to the second floor, eyes wide.

“Clint, is this how people buy furniture? It won’t fit in the car! How-” She was cut off by Clint’s undignified snorting.

“Don’t worry, itsy bitsy, we buy flatpacks. This-” he punctuated his sentence with a wave towards the sofas and coffee tables visible - “is just the showroom.”

After picking up their preliminary supplies, Clint and Natasha walked into the showroom, decked out with sunglasses, pencils behind their ears, order sheets tucked in their pockets and paper tape measures looped around their necks. Natasha really got into it, scribbling down the name and number of every item she liked, pushing the trolley like it was a pram - Clint took a more _laissez-faire_ attitude, relying on her notes and jumping around the shop, pointing out things that would look nice.

“Okay, we have some lovely bay windows in the bedroom that we’ve got specially tinted, so no-one is going to be looking in, but we do have a lovely view - I’m thinking we could try this coffee table with this set of chairs? It’s in a lovely mahogany-” Natasha was cut off by Clint’s excited squeal.

“This would be perfect for a target stand!” Clint’s excited face was not enough to save him from Natasha’s one-fingered salute. 

After turning away from her excitable but also _completely idiotic_ partner, Natasha walked purposefully towards the curtains, her lips twitching into a smile as she heard Clint huffing behind her. Assessing the curtain length, she deliberately chose a set of curtains that were a pink and yellow argyle pattern, knowing that she was the only one on Delta that appreciated argyle. Clint and Coulson were vehemently against it, and Clint’s decision that he loved purple did not mean he liked pink in any capacity.

By the time they finally reached the Self Serve Furniture Area, as Clint insisted on calling it in a mock English accent, Natasha knew precisely what she was going to get, and Clint mostly just wanted a target stand.

Flatpack furniture was an effective way of stacking the endless pieces they needed to get to furnish their new safehouse, but they had two trolleys each by the time they got to the checkout, and Natasha was a little sheepish at the sheer amount of things they were buying. Clint’s target stand - actually an easel he’d decided he was going to appropriate - joined the much smaller pile of items they were taking home with them rather than having delivered, at his insistence.

“Clint, I cannot believe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I don't own any characters/organisations here, I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.  
> I also don't own IKEA. Obviously.  
> -lux


	6. Freetown, Sierra Leone (31/10/2006)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And Natasha didn’t know if she wanted a partner that wasn’t Clint._

Planes were crowded as soon as there were more than two people on them, Natasha had decided.

Usually, Clint flew, she took lessons from him, and there was no one in the back. Occasionally they took Coulson with them, but that was unusual. The problem lay in that Coulson was very friendly, and often popped into the cockpit to see them.

Natasha knew he was being friendly, but it did grate on her. He hadn’t immediately warmed to her, though he had pretended he had, and Natasha didn’t know if he still had reservations about her or not. She had mostly interacted with him through mission reports, lunches, and shared good-natured complaints about Clint.

Handlers were normally on comms with their agent, and Coulson used to be on comms with Clint, but when Natasha joined up, her and Clint just kept each other on comms, effectively shutting Coulson out and managing themselves. Natasha knew that Coulson and Clint were exceptionally close, and that they still had meetings over coffee or sandwiches - which was mostly what Clint’s diet consisted of, if Natasha couldn’t sneak him into eating out with her or Coulson.

On this plane ride, things were different. Natasha was no longer the co-pilot, Coulson was, and Natasha was sent to ride in the back with Masha.

They were flying to Freetown, in Sierra Leone, because a Nazi supporter group had managed to get their hands on some old HYDRA technology, and as everyone knew, SHIELD fought HYDRA. Masha was coming with them, because she was Fury’s little protege, and as such was training under Coulson. Coulson was coming with them, because he had recently lost an agent - possibly in the Shanxi province, though they’d sent a team and come up with nothing - and Fury thought he needed a boost.

Natasha liked working with Clint. It was normal. She’d fallen into an easy rapport with him over the missions they’d been on together - before him she’d always worked alone. Sure, she’d trained with Yelena, Alexei and Melina, been trained by the Winter Soldier, Taskmaster, Madame B - but no one had been her partner in the way Clint was now. Adding Masha and Coulson to the mix felt somehow wrong, and there was a tight feeling in her chest as she saw Coulson and Clint talking quietly in the cockpit.

Comms were to be turned on during the mission. Masha had her Beretta - Natasha felt somewhat naked without it, remembering with vivid clarity how it had literally saved her life in Cairo - and Coulson was armed with a Sig Sauer. Clint had his arrows, rather than his sniper rifle, and Natasha had her Makarov, her Glock, her knives. Clint was going to be protecting the rear, Coulson running back-end from the safehouse, a block away from the Neo-Nazi base, and Natasha was heading up the frontal attack with Masha.

As soon as the plane touched down, they were unloading their tac bags, making sure weaponry and tech alike were concealed in suitcases and satchels, floppy hats on Natasha and Clint, caps on Masha and Coulson, their cover as a single father with his children very much secure. The thought of Masha as her sister felt wrong to Natasha, but she cleared her head, falling in step beside Clint.

“It won’t take long?” She was quiet, subdued - her alibi was bubbly and excitable, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to feel excited at all. “Just a few days, then we’re back home?”

Home. That was a loaded word, if ever there was one. She knew Clint had a cousin in Iowa he visited when he could, but Natasha’s home was her bunk at the Triskelion, the safehouse she was at, or with her partner. Clint nodded, answering her question, and was clearly about to ask her something when Coulson came up on his other side, and tapped Clint’s shoulder.

Natasha left them to it.

Masha had always been kind to her, at SHIELD - since the day Natasha had first joined, Masha had brought her food, eaten with her, and taught her about SHIELD culture. She was quiet - they both were - and supported her. Masha had given her the Beretta, had picked her up from Cairo, had supported her and put in a good word for Fury. But Natasha knew that people generally didn’t care, that Fury had his eye on Maria and Natasha was a senior operative - she knew that Maria could have endless reasons for befriending her.

Maria had never been on an op with her and Clint before. Natasha didn’t know her fighting style, how she moved, her tactics - she didn’t know her skillset, couldn’t rely on her to take out a target while Natasha was fighting them. She wasn’t Clint.

And Natasha didn’t know if she wanted a partner that wasn’t Clint. Coulson had brought up maybe adding Bobbi to their team, and she could maybe try that out, but having Maria sprung on them felt too much like a test, and Natasha didn’t like it.

By the time the team finally reached the safehouse, night had fallen, and they barely had time to run over the plan one more time before Coulson hustled them all into bed.

He woke them before the sun had even risen. Natasha was convinced Coulson was possessed, and was all set to see if he needed cognitive recalibration before she remembered they were on mission.

Breakfast was such an odd affair. When Natasha and Clint were on an op, they generally… didn’t have breakfast. But Coulson mentioned that there was a Starbucks near the base, and Maria made the age-old point that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and somehow they found themselves in a Starbucks, pretending they were functional people, drinking coffee at 4 am.

Clint had coffee - obviously - one black coffee, no milk, no sugar. He would drink straight from the coffee pot if Coulson would let him - as Natasha often did - and after he’d finished he ordered another. Maria ordered some disgusting honey latte and offered everyone a sip. It was the sweetest thing Natasha had ever drunk, and she nearly spat it out after. Coulson didn’t even have coffee - traitor - which made Natasha reassess her earlier acceptance that he hadn’t been possessed.

They all had a chocolate coin.

After they had finished, the first rays of sunlight lit the streets in an eerie half-light, the street lights flickering off. Maria shepherded them back to the safehouse so they could change and pick up their weapons, though Natasha was loath to leave the comfort and safety of the coffee shop. For a few minutes, they had just been people - friends, even - hanging out in a coffee shop like they weren’t in Sierra Leone simply to break up a Neo-Nazi ring who had their hands on technology that could annihilate people.

Once the team had finished changing into their tac suits and loading themselves up with guns and ammo - in Clint’s case, a bow and his arrows - they all filed into the rented minivan and Coulson drove them around the block to the base. The roads were bumpy, and every time they hit a pothole, the whole team was bounced around in the back.

Natasha and Clint had argued about who got to call shotgun, and once Maria started telling on them to Coulson, he decided that they all had to ride in the back - Maria got the whole middle row to herself, but Clint and Natasha were squished in the back together, and they fought good-naturedly the whole five minute drive.

As soon as they reached the base, Natasha’s good mood dried up. Her muscles tensed and she clutched her Makarov with a white-knuckled grip, the familiar shape lending memories of Russia and faceless marks rather than Clint’s jokes and their easy rapport.

Clint nudged her, trying to get her to relax, but he had to go, at Coulson’s insistence, and he tipped her one last salute before scaling the wall of the building next to the base, and disappearing over the top.

Alone with Maria and Coulson, Natasha knew she was safe, but her face had turned guarded and cold, and she brushed off their attempts to include her in running the plan again. As Coulson got back in the van to drive off, a crackle of static echoed across the comms, before Clint’s cheery voice filled Natasha’s ears.

Once Coulson’s van vanished round a corner, Natasha and Maria took their places, waiting until the first Nazi showed up.

Clint’s steady commentary on anything and everything was usually a welcome distraction from the tedium of waiting for a mark, but with Maria and Coulson on comms, he was quiet, something which disturbed Natasha. They were friends with Maria and Coulson - she could see why they might not appreciate some of the things Clint said, but the quiet was weird, so she took it upon herself to kick-start his commentary.

“Clint, any opinions about your rooftop?” She was joking, her tone light, but there was an element of tension in her voice that there wasn’t usually.

When there was no reply from Clint, Natasha frowned, chancing a glance up at the rooftop. She couldn’t see anything from her position on the ground, and that irked her. “Clint?”

Maria’s worried voice came through on the comms, and Natasha would be lying if she said the familiar voice didn’t ease her worry a little. True, she’d never been on mission with Maria before, and she had no idea how she worked in the field, but Maria had been associated with safety as long as Natasha had known her.

“Coulson, Barton could be down. We don’t have eyes on him. Do we abort?”

The thought of aborting the mission hadn’t even occurred to Natasha. There wasn’t an extraction team or timeframe on the mission - no one would be waiting if they postponed it for another day - but Natasha didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to abort. She saw her mark rounding a corner, and narrowed her eyes.

“I’m going in.” She turned off her comms and wandered into the street, looking lost. It took barely a second for the Nazi to notice her and turn sympathetic. He hailed her in Krio, asking if she was lost, and where she was going, and she offered him a smile, waiting for him to get closer. As soon as he was in range, she knocked him out with a poke to his pressure point and nodded in satisfaction as he dropped. Kicking his unconscious body into an alley and picking up his pass, she walked in the front door of the Nazi building, swiped his pass, and smiled predatorily as no alarms went off.

Natasha had made it up to the top of the building, confiscated the HYDRA tech, and was preparing to head back down to start a fire when a hooded figure dropped in through the window.

Bringing her pistol to her face in a split second, Natasha fired, the bullet hitting its target in the figure’s foot. She had no way of knowing who it was, so she dashed forwards lightly, flipping up the cowl of the quietly moaning person. It was the head of the organisation - she recognised him from photos. As she was about to bury a bullet in his head, he bit down on a cyanide pill, choking as his mouth filled with foam. He was about to say something, but it started with ‘Heil’, and Natasha really didn’t want to hear his Nazi spiel.

She stomped on his mouth, and made her way back down, setting her fire and feeling good about it. By the time she was outside, Coulson was pulling up, and he didn’t look happy. The others were already in the van, Clint looking a little worse for wear but generally okay.

“Natasha, what were you thinking! You could have been killed - you had no way of knowing if the person who knocked Clint out was still there - you were very irresponsible!”

Natasha grinned and took shotgun, stowing her Makarov in her holster.  
“Aw, you care about me, Phil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter today - hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Obviously I don't own any characters/organisations here, I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.  
> I also don't own Starbucks. Obviously.  
> -lux


	7. Garoua, Cameroon (03/03/2007)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t let him kill you!”_

The target grated on Natasha’s nerves. She wasn’t often so emotionally affected by her marks - prided herself, actually, on her impartiality - but this one was, for lack of a better word, a psychopath. She considered it. Actually, calling him a psychopath may have been an insult to genuine psychopaths. 

She glanced over at where Clint was sitting in the hard, deceptively comfy-looking chair that all down-market hotels were required to provide. His booted feet were up on the desk, and he’d moved the phone to make room. “Have you checked for taps?” asked Natasha, knowing she was being overly cautious. Clint nodded.

“How’s the view?” He swung his legs off the desk, knocking a bottle of water to the floor. “Aw, bottle, no,” he sighed, leaning down to pick up the plastic and gazing forlornly at the way the water seeped into the brown, scratchy carpet. “Do you think they can sue for damages?”

“It’s water, Clint,” replied Natasha, still looking out of the window. “And besides, it’s probably an improvement.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anything could make this carpet worse,” mused Clint, coming over to join her at the window. “Seen her yet?”

“No. She’s late.”

Clint put a hand on her shoulder. “Relax! She can handle herself.”

“I know that,” snapped Natasha. Clint pulled his hand away, looking hurt. Natasha swallowed. “I’m sorry. This target just… doesn’t sit right with me.”

“What, because he murdered and raped women across the country and then escaped to a non-extradition country?” guessed Clint.

“How on Earth did you manage to deduce that one, Sherlock?” said Natasha dryly. “She’s fifteen minutes late now.”

“It’s just a diplomatic meeting, Nat.” Clint flung himself over the chair again, picking up his coffee from where it had been cooling on the desk. “Ahh! Still hot.”

“What if he got to her?” Natasha picked up her Makarov, fingering the barrel. 

“You’re not her handler,” said Clint, waggling a finger. “You just have to trust she’ll send the distress beacon if she needs help.”

Natasha raised her eyes. “You clearly don’t understand the concept of pride.”

“If one of the top SHIELD agents were in trouble, we’d know.” Clint sipped his coffee, pulling a face. “Too sweet.”

“We’d know,” repeated Nat. “Would gunfire be an acceptable distress beacon for you to finally get off your bum and do something?”

“It certainly would,” declared Clint proudly. He looked over to where Natasha had jumped to her feet and started packing his arrows in the quiver. “Damn. Is the hearing aid messing up with low-pitch noises again?”

“Definitely.” The two of them were out of the door in a flash, racing down the stairs and into the hot African sun. The target burst out of the doors of the building opposite and turned a sharp left. 

“I got the target, you check civilian damages,” said Clint breathlessly. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it quickly. 

“Don’t let him kill you!” Natasha called after him. 

“Wasn’t planning on it!” He sprinted after the mark, cocking his bow. 

Natasha changed direction and ran inside the building. There was a body lying on the floor in reception, a pink-clad blonde-haired woman who had clearly fallen victim to the mark’s cloying fake charm. Panic seized her, and she began to run. “Maria?” she called, starting up the stairs. She entered an office, and found Maria standing over a government official, coolly pointing her gun at him. 

“This one’s in on it. Abbot’s paid him off. That’s the only reason he’s not dead like the others.” Maria snapped her handcuffs on the squirming man. “Where’s Barton?”

“Chasing Abbott,” replied Natasha, making her way to the window on the opposite side of the room and sliding the sash up. She levelled her Makarov, took aim, and fired. From across the crowded square, the agents could faintly hear, “No fair, Nat, come on!”

Maria raised her eyebrow at Natasha. “He could have handled it.”

“I know.” Natasha holstered her gun, throwing Maria a smile. “Just like I knew you could handle yourself, too.”

Maria’s eyebrow seems to be permanently halfway up her forehead, a wry smile plastered on her lips. “Thanks, Natasha.”

“Oh, itsy bitsy spider,” called a faint voice from outside the window. “Would you pleeease come and pick up your fly?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and saluted Maria, moving to the window.  
“See you later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own any Marvel characters or organisations.
> 
> lux graciously let me write a chapter, hopefully I get to write another one pretty soon! Let me know what you think :)
> 
> \- astra


	8. Helsinki, Finland (08/05/2007)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Please - please - why are you doing this?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for blood and much panicking from Nat.

Natasha frowned at Clint, backing away from the tray of makeup and bag of dirt he was holding, and wondered why he had such a gleeful smile on his face.

“Clint, I thought one of the little SHIELD kids was going to make me look dirty.” She had backed away as far as she could, and she hit the chair behind her, instinctively sitting down. “You are a field agent - you’re a sniper, Clint, dirt isn’t going to look authentic coming from someone who’s not a specialist and it really needs to look authentic, you know how big this is-”

“I worked in a circus, Natty.” Clint’s smile had gone, and he put his materials on the coffee table and put his hands on his hips, a reproachful look on his face. “I know how to do convincing makeup. Especially dirt.”

Natasha eyed the dirt warily, waving a hand for Clint to sit down and start almost absentmindedly. She was going undercover in Helsinki, to a hotel they suspected was a cover for a human trafficking ring, and she had to look like the kind of mark they were looking for. Small suitcase, looking for shelter, a little dirty, a little pathetic - someone who probably didn’t have anyone who would miss them.

The irony was, barely three years earlier, no one would have missed Natasha. She had steeled herself into accepting the mission because she knew that if something went wrong, she had Clint, Maria, Phil - even Bobbi and Fury - people who would care if she disappeared.

Human trafficking was always a big deal - it hit closer to home for her more than any of the others - but they had reason to believe that the traffickers were selling their captives to illicit operations including genetic experimentation labs and a shell company Natasha had reason to believe was linked to the Red Room, which meant that this operation was bigger than usual.

The ringleaders owned dozens of hotels, motels and shelters across Scandinavia, but Natasha and Clint had tracked the base of operations to the Tähden Hotelli in Helsinki. They couldn’t just go in, guns blasting, and torch the place as they did occasionally, because the owner of the hotel chain was a big hotshot, and had friends in very high places. Natasha was going in, to see how far she could get undiscovered, and once she had sufficient video evidence that there was a human trafficking ring that was selling their captives, she would get out as fast as possible.

It was incredibly risky. Natasha needed to keep as low a profile as she could, which meant no guns, not even a pistol, and no fighting either. She needed to get all the way to being sold, which could mean weeks, maybe months in captivity, and complete radio silence with SHIELD.

“Done.” Clint’s voice was gentle, and he set down his equipment to pick up a mirror. “Want to see?”

Natasha examined his handiwork, forcing a small smile. She looked perfectly pitiful, and she told him so.

“Oh goodie. I tried my hardest to combat your natural beauty - it was difficult, but I think I pulled it off.” Clint’s soft smile was enough to make Natasha laugh weakly, and when he slung an arm around her she gladly leaned into his touch. “There’s a tracker under your skin so it can’t be removed if you have to change, and the camera is going in this pair of glasses, which you should be allowed to keep.” He tucked a strand of her hair - dyed mousy brown - behind her ear, and stood.

“Clint, if things do go wrong-” Natasha started, but she was cut off.

“They won’t. Don’t worry, Charlotte A. Cavatica - we gotcha.” It was Clint’s turn to force a smile, and he handed her the prop glasses with a heavy heart. “But still. You stay safe out there.”

Natasha nodded grimly, and pulled up the handle of her suitcase. She took a moment to steel herself - memorising Clint’s familiar face and the comfort of the safehouse - before chancing a glance in Clint’s makeup mirror as she walked out.

She barely recognised the face reflected back at her.

The journey on the bus was long, and she stayed hunched into herself to avoid eye contact. She had to fork out some euros for a taxi to the ‘nearest hotel’, and the whole ride she wondered to herself if the fear and panic she was presenting was her acting or what she was really feeling.

Natasha entered the lobby of the hotel, glancing about with a wary gaze. Her knuckles were white, her hands clenched around the handle of her dirty suitcase, and she ached to hold the Beretta or her Makarov instead of the cheap plastic. She walked to the front desk on light feet, shoulders tense and a flush high on her cheeks.

“I don’t have much - I only have a couple hundred euros on me - I need somewhere to stay the night. Is there a cheap room I can sleep in?” Natasha asked in stilted, trembling Finnish. The receptionist seemed torn, and called someone, holding up a finger to tell her to wait. He spoke too fast for Natasha to understand, though she managed to pick out some words - girl, poor, room were some among the few she heard before the man turned to her with a smile, putting down the receiver.

“The owner says that you may stay the night,” he said, in heavily accented English. “Keep your money for food, he says.” The key he handed her was pristine, and looked out of place in her hands, the dirt under her fingernails contrasting sharply with the clear white of the key card.

After thanking him - profusely, but in English - Natasha made her way to her room, depositing the ratty suitcase on the floor and curling up on the bed. The room was small, and clearly not kept to the same standards that the rest of the hotel was, if the photos on the booking website were anything to go by. Regardless, Natasha slipped under the duvet, and fell into a fitful sleep.

When she awoke, she was no longer in the bed she had fallen asleep in. Her wrists were cuffed to a radiator, and she quashed the sudden panic that rose up. They had left the glasses, and she angled her neck to feel the back of her neck - there was a slight bump, which reassured her that the tracker was still there.

Footsteps echoed in the small room, and Natasha snapped alert, taking a rapid inventory of the room before whoever it was that was approaching came in. There was the radiator she was cuffed to, a fragile bed with dirty sheets, a bucket in the corner and a heavy-duty door that looked incredibly out of place. Natasha was working herself into a panic trying to locate a weapon before she remembered she was supposed to be keeping a low profile, and switched her expression into ‘terrified out of her mind’ without much effort.

The creaking of the door attracted her panicked gaze, and she curled into herself, pressing herself to the weak heat of the radiator. A tall woman entered the room, and Natasha’s heart nearly stopped before she realised that she wasn’t Madame B. She walked purposefully towards Natasha, and lifted her chin with a finger, tutting softly.

“You will need cleaning up.” The disapproval in her voice shook Natasha, and she trembled under her touch. She had never been captured before - well, she had, but she had always had an exit strategy, always fought her way out with ferocity, and now she could do nothing but go with her captors, subject herself to whatever they planned on doing to her, until she had sufficient evidence and could fight her way out. “Has she been screened?” Her demands were increasingly loud. Natasha had no idea who she was talking to before a burly, heavy-set man appeared, lurking, in the doorway.

“No ma’am.” Every aspect of him - his face, his clothes, even his voice - was _gruff_. He entered the room, and yanked Natasha up, ignoring her pathetic little hiss of pain when the handcuffs cut into her wrists. “I’ll screen her, then take her to medical. Then you can clean her up.” He damn near _bowed,_ bending his head and shoulders towards the stiff woman. Natasha couldn’t suppress her sigh of relief when the handcuffs unclicked, but at the woman’s frosty glare, she stopped herself from rubbing the angry red lines across her wrists. 

Natasha was dragged along by the gruff man to an even smaller room. Pride of place in the middle of it was a metal detector, and Natasha’s heart started pounding like a jackhammer. They would find the camera and the tracker, she wouldn’t get the evidence, the mission would be over. She swallowed, steeling herself, and opened her mouth.

“Please - please - why are you doing this?” She was praying her status as a helpless girl who wouldn’t dare talk would lead him into telling her what was happening. It was a long shot but it was the only one she had.

“Andrea pays well. She’s on some president’s payroll, or something.” He tossed Natasha into the metal detector, face impossibly bored, when the machine’s panicked beeping elicited an actual expression in him - and a string of expletives. “Andrea! The kid has somethin’ under her skin!”

He grasped her neck, and Natasha forgot how to breathe for a hot second. When his probing fingers found the bump of the tracker under her skin, he growled, and plucked the glasses off her nose, crumpling them in his massive fist. He swung his other hand at her face, and she crumpled, black spots eventually taking over her vision.

When she awoke for the second time, she was cuffed to the bed. Memories started flooding in and she began to hyperventilate, trying to curl up in a ball and nearly pulling her arm out of its socket. She forced herself to calm down, and used her free hand to feel her face. Her glasses were gone, and she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. There was a stinging at the back of her neck, and she held it, trying to formulate a plan. She could probably pick the lock and try to make her escape, but to where? There was no indication where she was, if she was even still in Finland, and she had no way of knowing if Clint knew where she was, either. 

After a few moments of struggling against her cuffs with no real effort, she lay down on the bed and wiped at her face. There was a horrible wet feeling, and she pulled her hands away to inspect them. The hand she had been holding the back of her neck with was covered in blood - red, and fresh - and now it was smeared on her face. She screamed, screwing her eyes shut and sobbing. She was the Black Widow - the Red Death - but she didn’t have an exit strategy, she didn’t have a weapon, and she was cuffed to a bed in exactly the same way she had been in the Red Room. She wasn’t the Black Widow or a SHIELD operative - she was Clint’s itsy bitsy or his Charlotte, and she was 23, and scared, and she was filled with memories of missions gone wrong.

How long she lay, apathetic, on the bed, Natasha did not know. Andrea and the gruff man could be heard arguing outside the room, and once or twice they tried to make her talk - but as tired as Natasha was, she still had her training.

It was hours later when she heard something other than Andrea and Onni. Footsteps - someone light-footed, but deliberately walking loudly - and then screams, then silence.

Natasha turned over on the bed, resigned to the fact that she’d been laying in a pool of her own blood for hours, and blinked at the person entering her room. 

He was blonde, and seemed familiar, and he came over to stroke her hair and rub some blood off her face.

Thinking about him put her into mission mode, and she started up, before Clint gently pushed her back down, soothing her.

“Hey, Natty, I’m here to take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a longer one and an angstier one than usual!  
> Next one is.. also angsty. Cheers, guys.
> 
> Obviously I don't own Marvel, so I don't own characters/organisations.  
> -lux


	9. Independence, USA (21/10/2007)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I traded a decent sleep schedule for an unlimited supply of coffee years back.”_

Clint stared out of the window, unmoving. The two of them had been awake for hours - it didn’t bother him, he’d stayed up longer - and Natasha had finally dropped into a fitful sleep.

He chanced a quick look over at her, and something in him relaxed at seeing her calm face. Natasha looked so much younger asleep - they were the same age, basically, but she acted so much older. She was so much more mature, more experienced - had seen more horrors in her life than he had in his - and yet, when she was sleeping, she almost looked like a normal twenty-three year old. Like her biggest worry was whether she could finish her college work on time.

The curtains were open, but no one was looking in. Strike team Delta were stuck in the middle of nowhere, also known as Buchanan County, Iowa - and boy if it didn’t bring back memories. Clint had grown up in Iowa before he was shipped out to foster homes and then left for Carson’s, and being back after so many years was a little off-putting.

Phil had noticed Natasha hadn’t been sleeping, had been throwing herself into training with too much vigour, had been skipping out on lunches, and had decided to cancel all of their upcoming ops. They had been sent to Iowa for ‘recuperation’, which was apparently valid as a mission parameter, and were going to be there until they were back to mission strength.

It looked like it was going to be a while.

Natasha had been… not right, ever since Helsinki. Clint and Phil had tried their best - they had dragged her to lunches, dinners, Phil had offered to host a sleepover as the only one of them with a residence bigger than a bunk - but Natasha had barely responded.

They had been in Iowa for less than a week, but there had been no fights, bruises, guns or blood. No handcuffs or scalpels, no metal detectors, and no one had made her wear glasses of any kind. Natasha had been coming out of her shell slowly, but surely.

She had been surrounded by violence at SHIELD since they had got back from Helsinki. If ever anyone so much as touched the back of her neck, they would be unconscious on the floor before anyone had a chance to think. Natasha had been wild, unpredictable - similar to how she had been when Clint brought her in. Arguing with Fury that she should be allowed to stay had been terrifying, but Clint and Phil had both known that she would be an asset. Now, though? Fury had been the first on the bandwagon to agree that she needed a little time off, had even called it a mission so she still had vacation days stocked up.

The friendship Natasha and Fury had built up was a little scary. Clint knew Nat could handle herself, but it was a little odd seeing the normally stoic and _terrifying_ Fury joking around with the normally icy and _terrifying_ Black Widow.

Fury had hugged her when they left. Hugged her! If Clint weren’t so sure that Fury would annihilate anyone who tried, he’d be worried he was an impostor. 

During their time in Iowa, Natasha had finally begun to relax - she had slept through the night at least twice, and Clint would never admit that he’d had that thought, because it really ended up sounding like she was a baby and he knew she would hate that.

The quiet sounds of Independence, Iowa, drifted in from the open window, and Clint shifted for the first time in around three hours, getting up from the hotel chair to sit on his bed. There was a light breeze, and it ruffled Natasha’s hair - back to its natural red - but didn’t wake her.

Clint got changed for bed, and curled up under his own covers, keeping one eye on Natasha. He felt responsible - he had told her, promised her that she would be fine - so he was keeping an eye on her. Making sure she didn’t wake up, that if she did - that then he would be there for her.

In the morning, Clint woke with the sun. He stumbled out of bed blearily, and moved to close the curtains- when he noticed the window was shut.

He hadn’t shut it.

Their room was on the third floor of the hotel, and there were no pipes on the outside. Clint could only think of four people who could scale a sheer wall to get up to their room, and two of them were inside it.

One of the others was Bobbi, and excellent as Bobbi was, Clint didn’t think she would haul herself all the way to Buchanan County, _Iowa,_ to close a window.

That only left one person, but Clint had been fairly sure he was dead. He had hoped he wasn’t - as bad as that made him feel - but Clint had been sure he was dead years ago.

Working himself up to a panic, Clint spun around, ready to rouse Natasha, when he stopped himself. She was sleeping - peacefully - and she hadn’t had enough sleep recently. It was his fault if _he_ had broken in - he had left the window open, left the curtains open. Clint closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to centre himself.

Of course, someone else could have trained to scale a three-storey building, but that was the kind of thing you learn in an organisation that trains little girls to be assassins, or in the circus. It was unlikely that it was a Red Room operative, or they would both be dead, so that only left the fourth option.

When Clint was little, his father used to drink, and take his anger out on him, his mother, and his big brother Barney. They had grown up in fear of him, but when Clint was seven, their parents died in a car crash. Barney was delighted to be out from under his thumb, but less than a day later, they were under the system’s thumb instead. They had bounced around foster homes, until they ran away when Clint was thirteen.

That sparked a long run in Carson’s Carnival of Travelling Wonders. Clint had been trained up by Swordsman and Trickshot - both long dead - but Barney had been jealous, and wanted a normal life. He had trained up under Trickshot too, but when Clint found out that Swordsman had been stealing from the circus to pay for gambling debts, his mentor had tried to kill him, and left him for dead in the middle of nowhere - in Wisconsin. Barney had left him and the circus - he had killed the original Trickshot and stolen his identity, to go on to kill Swordsman in revenge and run away, leaving his own trail of bodies behind him.

Clint had assumed that Barney had died a long time ago, but he was the only other person that had the skills Swordsman and Trickshot the original had taught them. There was no-one else who Clint knew that could make that climb.

It was only when he had finished pulling himself together that he noticed the little surprise Barney had left.

There was a specialty arrow lying on the table. Clint recognised it immediately - SHIELD tech. One of his. It was an explosion arrow, but it had probably landed without going off, and Barney had probably picked it up from the scene.

As soon as Clint picked it up, the red light below the tip started flashing, and he started. Of course Barney would leave a bomb in the hotel room of two master assassins.

Clint opened the window and chucked the arrow out, sighing when he saw it detonate in midair, rather than hear it. Slipping his hearing aids in from where he’d left them on the table, he thanked the high heavens that Barney hadn’t taken them. It would have been all too easy to render him useless.

There were still a few more hours before the hotel’s breakfast cafe started serving, and Clint got started on securing the room. He was aware he was probably being paranoid, but Natasha was on the road to recovery, and he didn’t want to put her back even further by letting her know that his psycho serial killer brother was after him.

He barely wanted to admit it to himself.

The requisite few hours later, Clint roused Natasha with a cheery smile, urging her to get dressed and down for breakfast. He had gotten dressed far earlier, and he tapped his foot impatiently waiting for her to get dressed.

“Clint, why didn’t you just order food? You didn’t have to wait.” Natasha’s sleepy remark made Clint’s jaw drop.

“Wow, Arachne, I didn’t even think of that! That’s such a good idea, I totally should have done that.” He attempted to make his way to the phone, but tripped over an ottoman, frowning at the paisley pattern. “Hey, did you pick this room? I thought Phil had, but he would never let me sleep somewhere with that monstrosity. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”

Natasha’s tired grin was brighter than the terrible hotel lighting, and Clint offered her his arm to hold as they made their way down to the breakfast on offer.

“Hey, Little Miss Muffet, why were you up so early?” Natasha joked, tweaking Clint’s ear. He forced a grin and ruffled her hair straight back.

“I traded a decent sleep schedule for an unlimited supply of coffee years back.” He couldn’t let on that anything was wrong - Nat deserved a holiday, not an op - so he smiled and led her down to coffee and cake for breakfast.

When there was no Phil nagging at them to eat healthy, they often skipped on breakfast, but the hotel cafe made the best chocolate cake Clint had ever tried and the only chocolate cake Nat had ever tried, so that was what they ate.

Up until lunch, absolutely nothing went wrong. The pair went out to buy Nat a floppy hat to replace the one she lost in Freetown, and they stopped in a Starbucks to reminisce. It was nice, quiet, until they slid into a Wendy’s to grab a Baconator and a drink, and then it all went to hell.

Clint spotted Barney outside. There was no mistaking him, even though it had been almost a decade - Barney had barely changed.

Natasha was still ordering, up at the cashier, so Clint slipped outside to confront him, muscles tense.

“Barney, you need to leave. I - I’ll have to arrest you. You know that, right?” He desperately didn’t want to have to deal with Barney; it had been easier when he had been presumed dead.

“I ain’t here for the easy way out, Clinton,” Barney growled, looping an arm around Clint’s neck, just shy of painful. “I’ve been trackin’ you, but you ain’t an easy kid to find. I taught you that.” He stabbed a finger into Clint’s chest, making him twitch.

“You used t’ protect me, Barney,” Clint wheezed, aware that they were drawing looks and that Natasha would be out soon. “From pa, from Swordsman. What changed?”

At Barney’s scowl, Clint winced, preparing for a blow that never came.  
“You did, kid. You left me. An’ now, ya don’t need me, I don’t need you. Only one way this is gonna end, baby brother. It's in our blood. One'a us is gonna hafta kill the other. An' I ain't gonna stop until I come out on top.” He was sneering, and Clint was seven again, trapped between the counter and his father’s beer bottle.

Natasha was his saving grace. He hadn’t wanted her to find out, but she walked out of the Wendy’s with their burgers in a bag, and waltzed straight up to Barney, poking him.

“I’m a very unpredictable lady, Mr. Barton, and I’m really rather fond of your brother, so I’d suggest you leave. Now.” As soon as he had fled from her, she turned to Clint. “Come on, Clint. Burgers’ll get cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be more fun, I promise.
> 
> I don't own Marvel or their characters or organisations. Duh.  
> -lux


	10. Jumeirah, Dubai (19/02/2008)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I can’t help but worry. What if something’s gone wrong?”_

Almost the second they stepped out of the jet, a blast of warm wind hit Natasha in the face, and she sighed. Dubai was hot even in winter, and it was so nice to be warm for once.

“I love it when we get to go somewhere with nice weather. Too often, it’s like Russia, or Helsinki - Dubai is, it’s nice,” Natasha explained, leaning her head on Clint’s shoulder as they marvelled at the view. “And we get to fly in a Quin, which is always better than commercial. Look - look at this. Where else am I going to get a view like this?”

The sea was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and Natasha found herself wishing Maria were there to see it with her. Clint put an arm around her shoulders, and sighed.

“I do love the view, but we have a job to do, Anansi. C’mon. Let’s get checked in, and then we can start sending over the intel.” He was right, but Natasha huffed and turned away, the brim of her floppy hat whacking him in the face.

They had been reserved a suite in the Burj Al Arab, which was almost certainly Fury pulling some favours because that could not be cheap. There was already a team onsite - Bobbi and Mack, and some SAS guy they’d picked up - and Natasha and Clint were there to send over the intel, be backup if Bobbi needed it, and extract them at the end of the op. The suite was booked for a week, and Natasha was determined to make the most of that week. Unless Bobbi specifically requested backup, she was going to sunbathe. And swim. And enjoy the gorgeous view.

Clint checked them in, and they decided to bring their meager luggage up to the suite themselves. Natasha had packed all of the holiday wear she owned, which was not much, and had largely been bought in Iowa - which meant that they were going shopping at the first opportunity. Clint had brought all the holiday he owned, which was even less than her, and he didn’t even have a hat - it had been lost in Freetown.

As soon as they got up to the room, Natasha shucked off her boots and raced Clint to call dibs on the bed she wanted - closest to the window, of course - without even pausing to marvel at the fact that their suite had _stairs,_ and a tiny room underneath them. Once Natasha had claimed her bed and dumped the contents of her suitcase - not pink plastic this time, and never again - into her side of the wardrobe, she bounced downstairs to find out all the cool things their suite had.

There were remote control curtains. Natasha spent about five minutes opening and closing them without getting up from the sofa, while Clint watched in rapt awe. Clint was the one who discovered that there were remote controlled lights and music, too, and so they naturally made plans to have a disco after dinner.

Fury and Phil had told them that it was a very important mission, and of course that was totally true, but Bobbi and her team were doing most of the hard lifting, which meant that there was no reason for Natasha not to gleefully tell Clint to order room service for dinner and to start making plans for their days at the beach.

The room service was delicious. There was this fancy pasta with red wine that Natasha absolutely adored, and Clint ordered about five portions of burgers from the kids’ menu and seemed very happy.

“Does it-” he paused to wipe his face, “Does it really compare to the Wendy’s Baconator, though?”

Natasha whacked him with her hat.

“Okay! I get it. Seven star quality versus fast food restaurant, we all know who would win in a fight.” He smacked his lips and laid his unused cutlery on his plate, taking a sip of Natasha’s wine with his pinky stuck in the air. “De-licious.”

They both broke down into giggles, pushing the dinner tray back to the door and wondering what to do next. Clint grabbed the remote and jumped onto the sofa, his socked feet slipping a little on the velvet. “Disco time, Arachne!” he crowed, closing the curtains and turning off some of the lights.

Once Natasha joined him on the sofa, he put the music on, and she started laughing. She had no idea which playlist Clint had selected, but it started with ‘Never gonna give you up’, which really didn’t bode well for the rest of the songs. She sang along anyway, knowing she had to counter Clint’s terrible yelling somehow.

About halfway through their impromptu disco, Clint stopped in the middle of Toxic, a pensive look on his face. Natasha jumped off the sofa, tilting her head to stare at him.

“What’s up, birdbrain?” He laughed a little, and picked her up, spinning her around.

“Just wondering how Bob’s doing.”

_Bobbi wiped her forehead, panting hard. Mack and Hunter had gone on ahead while she stayed behind to fight off the armed guards, and she was bleeding heavily from a GSW in her side. She was down to her last magazine, but there was only one last hostile from her original count._

_“Mack, get the shipment and get out of there,” she growled into her comms, flipping her hair and preparing to take down the last man standing._

_“Bob, shouldn’t you call for backup?” Mack’s voice crackled into her earpiece and she cracked her neck, running at the man._

_“A little busy here, Mack!” Her voice was strained as she wrapped her arms around the hostile’s neck, clinging to him. “And no! I’m fine on my own!”_

_She was shaken off his back, and she leaped back up, flipping over him to squeeze his neck with her thighs. He choked, trying to prise her off him, but he sank to the floor, letting her release him, grab his gun and stand up, shaking herself off, her bullet wound twinging. “No reason to call for back-up.”_

_As she was leaving, she spotted another group of guards heading for the airfield, and sighed. “More men coming your way. I’ll see what I can do.”_

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Natasha shrugged, “she’d call if not, right?”

Clint sighed, nodding slowly. “Probably. But, we have a bet going on, and she might really not want to pay for bacon burgers next time we go out.”

Natasha looked at him, as if wondering how he could be that flippant and borderline idiotic, before remembering he grew up in a circus.

That tended to explain things.

The next day, they both woke up at about midday, completely hungover. Natasha groaned and grabbed her hat from where she’d left it on the nightstand, covering her face with it to block out the light.

“Clint. The curtain remote. Did we leave it downstairs?”

Clint let out an identical groan and rolled over, making his duvet into even more of a mess.  
“Aw, curtains, no,” he moaned, blinking blearily. “I barely remember past the arm-wrestling competition. Did we.. did we play hide and seek?”

Natasha flushed, heat rushing to her cheeks. “You didn’t find me in the cupboard under the stairs for about an hour. Clint, we need to get up! We’re wasting the day! We should go swimming. Not the beach first, I don’t want to get my toes sandy before I have a chance to buy flip flops, but if we go shopping quickly-”

Clint rolled over again and rolled out of bed, still tangled up in his duvet, a very put-out look on his face.

“Natty. Coffee first.”

Once they had downed a glass of orange juice each and Clint had finished the coffee pot, they went shopping to grab sarongs, flip flops, sun cream and two large diet cokes. After the contest to see who could sip their drink most obnoxiously loud, they went back to the hotel and changed into their swimming costumes, making sure to lather each other with suncream. Natasha made a point of loudly proclaiming that she was ‘too pretty for melanoma’.

Swimming was heaven. They could sun themselves for hours, just lying lazily on their towels, and once Clint decided to get in the water they had a full-out water fight, even roping some giggling kids into helping them.

A few hours later, when Natasha could no longer stand ignoring Clint saying he was hungry, they made the trip back up to the hotel to change, check to see if Bobbi had left a message - she hadn’t - and get their things together to go out for dinner.

They wandered Jumeirah for a bit, making note of the layout of the residential streets and the empty plots, when they came across a mall they decided to eat in.

Clint had decided they were going to eat there when he saw the flyer and Natasha couldn’t refuse him when she saw his face. So they went up to the food court in Mercato Mall - Natasha was hoping for a little Arabian restaurant, but she was in no way surprised when she saw that her options were a Chinese restaurant, a Hardee’s, a McDonalds or a kebab place.

They chose the Chinese. Natasha shook her head at Clint when they sat down with their styrofoam plates, but she enjoyed the meal - she liked eating out with her friends. It was nice whenever they all got together - she could try and improve Clint’s taste, and appreciate that Maria and Phil both enjoyed fancy food.

Once he had eaten his way through his meal, Clint sighed and leaned back on the metal chair, checking the flip phone almost obsessively.

“She’s probably fine, Clint,” Natasha rebuked gently. “Stop worrying.”

“I can’t help but worry. What if something’s gone wrong?”

_Bobbi fell on top of Hunter, pushing them both onto the bed, and kissed him with a ferocity she usually kept for battle. He made a gesture at the door, and Bobbi kicked it closed before jumping properly onto the bed, propping herself up above him._

_“Bob - aren’t we supposed to be handling the shipment?” Hunter protested weakly, unable to stop his smile._

_“Aw, Hunter, c’mon. Mack’s out handling that.” He rolled them over, pinning Bobbi down with a light touch, and when she flipped them over again she knocked the flip phone onto the floor, accidentally hitting the call button - but she didn’t notice that._

_“It’s just you and me.”_

Clint picked up the call, and immediately held the phone away from his ear, looking genuinely offended.

“Yeah, okay. They’re perfectly fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi, Mack and Hunter are real characters from Agents of SHIELD, and they really went on an op in Dubai - we just don't have any details.
> 
> I don't own Marvel, their characters or organisations, or any organisations/companies that show up.  
> -lux


	11. Kabul, Afghanistan (07/05/2008)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“They told me you were dead.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for bombs, death, war violence

The air was still and heavy. Maria glanced over at where Clint was unpacking crates from the quinjet, and looked sideways at where Natasha was standing next to her.

“You ready?” Natasha asked gently. Maria nodded sharply. 

“Our field liaison should be coming to greet us,” she explained. “Coulson’s had all the contact with her, but she knows we’re here.” A movement in front of her caught her eye, and her hand instinctively darted to her gun.

“Easy, soldier,” called a familiar voice, and Maria, startled, looked forward to see a face she never expected to see again.

“No, no,” she whispered, pressing her hands against her eyes. “Not now.” She felt a hand touch her shoulder and jumped, pulling her gun out of its holster but luckily not aiming it.

“It’s okay, Maria. This is just our liaison, right?”

“Exactly,” the woman agreed. “Colonel Alyssa Marshall. At your service, ma’am.”

Maria, feeling entirely idiotic, shook her head. “They told me you were dead.”

“They wish!” Marshall laughed. “Nothing can keep me down for long.”

Marshall held her arms out, and Maria hugged her tightly, Alyssa thumping her on the back. “But— everyone else. They’re all…”

Alyssa’s face was stony. “I’m sorry, Hill. There was nothing anyone could do.”

“No.” Maria turned to Natasha. “Agent Romanoff, this is my unit leader from my last tour over here.”

“She and I are the last of the 14th left standing,” boasted Alyssa. “Your girl’s got balls. She’s the one that sent the distress signal to the rest of the troops. I’d be dead if not for her.”

“Isn’t that the norm in Afghanistan?” asked Clint, popping up behind Alyssa. “Saving your unit’s lives, I mean?”

“He may not look it, but this one’s saved my life too many times to count,” Natasha admitted. “He’s an asset.”

“Well, I’m pleased to be making the acquaintance of some of SHIELD’s best agents,” declared Alyssa. “Come on inside, I’ll show you around the base. I bet you won’t even recognise it, Maria,”

The base had hardly changed. There was new paint on the walls, a few new damaged sections, and a new wing of barracks, but it mostly looked exactly the same as it had when Maria was deployed there. After a round of introductions, Maria, Natasha, and Clint found themselves in one of the barracks, their meagre clothes lying on bunks. Clint looked at Talia.

“Not like the Burj al Arab, is it?”

“Not exactly,” agreed Natasha dryly. “Though I expect you’re used to it, Maria.”

“We’ve all slept in much worse conditions than this,” said Maria. “We’ll need to rest— the orphanage is a long drive and we’ll need to be well-rested.”

Clint sat down on one of the bunks. “It’s so hard,” he moaned. “How did you do this for five years, Maria?”

“Tolerance and perseverance,” Maria said. “It’s a skill.” The heat of the evening was suffocating her, and she closed her eyes. It was hard, being back. The barracks were exactly as she remembered them, and she half-expected Frank or Dave to come bounding in and shake her, grabbing her to go get food from the canteen, or to play a prank on Alex. She turned away from the door. There was distant gunfire, and she had to work hard not to jump up and run. This was normal here. Honestly, she remembered, you had more issues when the gunfire stopped. 

“Let’s turn in for the night,” said Natasha, her eyes fixed on Maria. Maria was grateful, really. Natasha had always been incredibly perceptive, and Maria was glad she picked up on her desire to be alone. “I’ll set an alarm for the morning.”

The next morning was possibly even hotter than the day before. Maria awoke to the sound of a peaceful tune playing on Natasha’s phone. She was glad it wasn’t beeping, but a little bemused. She wouldn’t have pegged the Black Widow as a pretty alarm kind of girl.

“Wake up, Clint,” sang Natasha, yanking the covers off him. 

“Awww, covers, no,” moaned Clint, blinking up blearily. “What was that for, Natty?”

“To get your lazy butt out of bed,” retaliated Natasha. “Look at Maria. She’s getting up all on her own. You’d do well to take lessons from her, Clinton Barton.”

Maria laughed, tugging her camouflage trousers on over her socks. She laced up her boots, then stood up. “I’m going to see the colonel, get an idea of our extraction plan for today. You both know the general gist of the mission?”

“Actually, Phil told us you’d explain when we got here, to minimise security leaks,” Natasha explained. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“There’s an asset at an orphanage just outside the city limits,” said Maria. “Our mission is to go in, get her, and get out again.”

“Sounds easy,” grumbled Clint. “Why’d you have to wake me so early?”

“It would be much easier if the Taliban wasn’t also after her,” said Maria dryly. 

Clint looked abashed. “Yeah, okay. Let me just get some coffee, then I’ll be ready to go.” He stumbled out into the corridor.

Natasha looked back at Maria, rolling her eyes. “I’ll make sure he changes out of his Pokemon pyjamas too.”

Maria was squished in uncomfortably between Natasha and a soldier she didn’t recognise. Clint was sitting on the other side with two more soldiers. They were all seated on hard metal benches, more guns in the vehicle than SHIELD ever sanctioned for even the biggest missions. Colonel Marshall was in the front, next to the driver. 

“Are we nearly there yet?” called Clint. Natasha smacked his arm across the car. 

“About twenty minutes out,” replied Alyssa from the front. “This road can sometimes be dangerous, so we’re taking our time.”

Maria glanced out of the window. It wasn’t the same road, but it could have been. There was nothing but empty dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. She bounced her gun on her knee, feeling restless. Natasha rested her hand on Maria’s back, subtly enough that nobody else saw. It was comforting.

“I’m so bored, Anansi,” groaned Clint. 

Maria raised her eyebrows and turned to Natasha. “He can survive eight-hour stakeouts, but a forty minute car journey is beyond him?”

Natasha laughed, and was about to answer when an explosion sounded in the distance, rocking the Humvee. Maria and Natasha were thrown forwards, Maria hitting her head hard on the bench on the other side. When her vision cleared, she looked around in rising panic. The rest of her unit was disoriented too, most of them lying prone on the wall of the sideways Humvee. 

Maria swore. “That was an IED. No way we’ll be alone out here for long.” Dave’s eyes flicked to the door in the back of the vehicle. 

“We’ll have to get out anyway,” he reasoned. “Our guys need medical attention.”

“Okay,” agreed Maria. “I think my arm’s broken. Anyone else seriously hurt?”

“I can’t move my leg,” moaned Frank. “And Alex is unconscious.”

Maria nodded slowly. “Alyssa?” she called. There was no response. “We have to hope she’s okay. Let’s get out.” 

With a lot of effort, Maria and Dave managed to open the door and get the whole unit out. Maria blinks against the bright desert sun, and makes out at least five figures, one of them holding an unconscious Alyssa. Maria swore again. 

“Let her go!” yelled Dave, pulling out his gun. The assailants barely hesitated before shooting him in the forehead. He crumpled to the ground. 

“Dave!” cried Frank. He turned his head to stare daggers at the Taliban, but before Maria could even breathe, he had a bullet in his brain too. Maria could see their leader take in her major’s insignia, and he shot Alex and Harvey too. 

“Maria!” someone cried. Maria paused. Why was someone calling her name? She wasn’t dead. She was the only one who wasn’t dead. Why wasn’t she dead?

“What do you want?” she spat in Pashto, hardly able to look at the bodies either side of her.

“Isn’t that clear? We want American guns, and American intelligence.” The leader signalled, and another of the assailants grabbed her arms, pinning her to the side of the Humvee. She screamed in pain.

“Masha, it’s okay.” Maria shook her head adamantly. This wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, because her men were dead and she wasn’t and it was all her fault, and the leader was still talking but the words didn’t make any sense, and then he had red hair and the words were in Russian and the Humvee wasn’t on its side, it was the right way up, and Dave and Frank and Alex and Harvey were gone all over again, and she was crying and coughing, her shoulders heaving. The red-haired person in front of her had switched to English now.

“Masha, it’s okay, you’re safe, I promise. It’s 2008, and you’re safe, and I’m here.” Next to the red-haired girl was a man. Maria knew she recognised them. But Dave -- where were her men?

“I-- where--?” Maria gasped.

“It’s okay, Masha,” promised the red-haired person.

“Tasha?” managed Maria.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. I’m here, Masha. You’re okay.” Natasha held out her hand, and Maria grasped it like a lifeline, breathing out slowly. “You’re going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I don't own Marvel or any characters or organisations.  
> -astra*


	12. Lisbon, Portugal (21/08/2008)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Natty, your sense of style is impeccable. But Maria-” he huffed, “-we have so far to go.”_

The mission was simple. Infiltrate undercover, gather intel, get out. The mark was some politician’s wife, and she’d gone to a ladies’ resort - the only time she was away from her bodyguards - so Natasha was set to go in with Masha. Just the two of them.

Unfortunately, Clint had tattled to Fury that her and Masha were… getting closer, and he had requested to go in with them. As back up, or as supervision. That meant that Clint had to dress up as a girl.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing either of them had ever done - nor was it the first time either of them had had to pass as the other gender for a mission. Clint was actually excited, the little rat, and he had been busy working up his cover story.

It was with giggles and sighs that Fran exited the changing room, giving Nat and Masha a little twirl. Clint had put on leggings with short shorts over the top, a crop top, had worn _earrings_ \- Nat hadn’t even known his ears were pierced - and he’d done his makeup so skillfully Nat barely recognised him. Masha whistled, and Nat ignored the tight feeling in her stomach.

“Well, Fran, you clean up nice,” Masha joked, and Nat forced a smile.

“Yeah, what’s your secret?” At Nat’s words, Masha slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned into her, her stomach loosening. Clint snickered and planted his hands on his hips.

“I never skip leg day, girls.” He ducked under their identical slaps and ran for his makeup kit, returning with it open in front of him. “But you two need a little sprucing up if we’re to pass as businesswomen. Seriously, I never go out without a little powder. Gotta look good for the SHIELD security cams. How do you function?”

Nat and Masha both flushed. Masha was first to cave, allowing Clint to fix her up. They spent the next couple of hours dolling each other up as best they could - Masha turned out to be a whiz at painting nails and did Clint’s in his signature purple, Nat’s in crimson red, and Clint and Nat teamed up to do hers in dark blue with silver glitter. 

Once Clint deemed them to be up to the standard rich women set, he disappeared again and returned with a box of earrings.

“Okay kids. So, these used to belong to the first liontamer we had - she was pretty awesome - and she gave ‘em to me before she left. Pick out your favourites.” He cracked open the lid, and Nat and Masha peered inside like it was a treasure chest.

The box was filled with earrings - not the cheap, silver-plated kind, but handcrafted - some dripping with jewels, some simplistic. Nat whistled, picking out a pair of earrings with gorgeous black feathers attached.

“Do these go with my outfit, Fran?” she teased, standing up to do a quick twirl, showing off her red dress and leather jacket. The dress had a full skirt but only came up to mid-thigh, but her nails matched her dress and now her earrings matched her jacket.

Masha had selected a tiny pair of silver hoops, and Clint sighed.

“Natty, your sense of style is impeccable. But Maria-” he huffed, “-we have so far to go.”

Disappearing _again_ only to return with the skinniest black jeans Nat had seen, a floaty silver top and a denim jacket, Clint was grinning. Nat bit her lip, her heart racing, and distracted herself by picking a pair of earrings while Masha got changed.

When Masha came back into the main room and gave them a little twirl, Nat found her mouth incredibly dry and blinked, her eyes blown wide.

“Uh - I picked these for you.” She thrust the silver stars into Masha’s hand, a flush creeping high up her neck. “Thought they’d go with the top and the nails.”

Masha thanked her quietly, and Clint had to shove a fist in his mouth to stop himself from snickering.

The resort accepted them with open arms once they flashed their tickets, and Nat could see people checking Clint out, which was hilarious. Weird, though - she had thought the resort was for women who wanted to have some girl time away from their husbands.

The slow realisation that most of the women here were lesbians was both incredibly distracting, and somewhat… exciting. Nat had never considered having a relationship with someone, _ever,_ but she was pretty sure some of the feelings she was having for Masha weren’t entirely platonic. And, maybe if they escaped Clint for a few minutes, she could… ask her about that?

They were shown to the cabin they would be staying in - the three of them with the mark. Phil had clearly pulled some strings in the booking to get them all together. The four-person cabins were dotted about the estate, and there were dozens of women there - mostly just milling around in the sunlight, but there were some clearly on their way to the spa, or the pool, or the restaurants or cafes.

Nat located a map of the resort, and snapped her head up, pulling on Clint’s arm.

“Fran, Fran, there’s a beach! Can we go?” She hoped her pleading face was enough to convince him, and sure enough, he laughed and squeezed her shoulder.

“After we sort our luggage, get settled in, and have lunch, Tash.” Masha and Nat shared an excited look, and Nat grabbed a hand of each of her fellow agents, pulling them towards their luggage that had been brought to the back of the cabin.

“Dibs on the bed by the door-” Clint started, before Nat and Masha jumped in with “Window!”

Luckily the whole back wall was a tinted window, so the girls took the beds closest to the back while Clint took the bed by the door, leaving the bed by the bathroom for Lara Cioffi, their new friend - and mark.

By the time they had sorted out their luggage and fought over which fancy restaurant to go to for lunch, Lara had arrived. She seemed nice enough - Clint introduced himself right off the bat, engaging with their mark with “Francis, but call me Fran darling - how funny, I have a cousin called Laura - get settled right in, love: these are Tash and Mary, they’re lovely - though not as lovely as you.” He honest-to-god _winked,_ and Nat nearly had a coronary trying not to laugh when she saw Lara checking out Clint’s ass when he turned around.

They invited Lara with them for lunch, and finally agreed on Italian. Nat, as usual, had some fancy pasta and enjoyed it immensely with a glass of red. Clint, on the other hand, ordered the biggest pizza Nat had ever seen - yet managed to eat it without making a pig of himself, which was unusual. Clint could generally be found snacking on a sandwich, pizza, or guzzling coffee when at SHIELD, yet somehow this was the most graceful Nat had ever seen him.

Masha ordered bolognese, which nearly sent Nat’s cultured heart into shock, but she managed to be elegant about it. Poor Lara seemed to have no idea about half of the inside jokes they were slinging about, but she made a valiant attempt to stay afloat in the conversation. 

One of them was a master spy, one of them had pretty decent social skills and one of them was just really hot, so they got Lara talking in no time. By the time they’d finished lunch, they had all of their intel, plus the novel-length version of Lara’s whole entire life. It was lucky they finished lunch when they did so they could turn the conversation to other things, namely

“The beach, Fran. You promised.” Nat was delighted at the chance to go swimming again, especially in Lisbon, in August. It was the perfect time.

“Sure thing, Tash - let’s go get changed. Fair warning, though - I need to shave my legs first. And I’m not big on swimming.” Clint’s cover could be blown if they went swimming, so they elected to have him stay sunbathing instead.

“Um - Fran, if you need to shave your legs, how about a trip to the spa? We can’t go swimming straight away anyway, and they would wax your legs for you.” Lara seemed a little nervous to suggest it, but Maria clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh my God, that’s such a good idea! We can go get massages while Fran gets waxed! How about it, F?”

Nat was delighted, and even though Clint did not look amused, he raised a grin for Lara’s sake and agreed, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

As soon as they got into the cabin, Clint disappeared into the bathroom to change, electing for a padded t-shirt and jeans, with shorts in his bag to put on once he got… _waxed._

Nat and Masha both slipped into their swimming costumes and t-shirts and shorts on top. A little disappointed that Masha was out of the skinny jeans, Nat offered her her own bikini, and grinned when she saw that it fit Maria very well.

Linking arms, Nat leaned her head on Masha’s shoulder while they walked to the spa, their flip flops slapping the path with every step. Clint and Lara were a little ahead, and Nat figured it was the perfect time to talk to Maria.

“Hey, Masha,” she said quietly, lifting her head to look Maria in the eyes. “So. This is, um, a lesbian resort, right?”

“Yes. Well, mostly. I think it’s a place for women to come when they want to get away from their lives, but mostly that’s because they’re lesbian.”

“Well - I - I kind of like that.” Nat gulped, staring at Maria. “I think I like a girl.”

Masha raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “Oh yeah? Me too.”

“Well, Masha, I think that I’d very much like to kiss the girl I like.”

“What a coincidence.” Masha’s eyes were twinkling. “Me too.”

After a quick glance to make sure Clint wasn’t watching, Nat gently took Maria’s face in her hand, a little hesitant. She kissed Masha, quickly at first, and pulled back as if to make sure that was okay.

“Nat - this is slightly awkward. I mean Sharon Carter.”

Nat recoiled as if she’d been slapped, eyes wide. “Oh my god!”

Maria giggled, shaking her head. “Relax. I’m kidding.” She kissed Nat, smiling a little as Nat melted slightly under her touch.

They spent the rest of the way to the spa holding hands, trading tiny kisses, and giggling behind Clint and Lara’s backs. 

“I guess that’s why Clint was sent along, to babysit us,” Masha whispered into her ear, her breath hot on Nat’s skin.

When Clint got waxed, he shrieked so loud they could hear it in the massage room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there actually is a lesbian resort in Lisbon, but wouldn't it be fun if there were?
> 
> I don't own marvel, their characters or their organisations!  
> -lux


	13. Madripoor, Madripoor (06/04/2009)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"That makes you a superhero in my eyes."_

Natasha was on holiday. She refused to let anything spoil her good mood. Not the scratchy blanket; not the fact Clint was still in the room; not the civil war threatening to break. Nope. She was on holiday.

Well, it wasn’t technically a holiday. Masha had just been promoted, and if it had been up to Natasha, she would have requested personal time off for the two of them to go somewhere hot, with a beach and swimming. Swimming with Masha would have been amazing.

But the Deputy Director didn’t get off that easily, so the best they could do was somewhere hot, with a beach and a brewing war. The island of Madripoor was divided into two regions; Hightown and Lowtown. Despite Hightown being the more affluent sector, when Masha had been stationed there, she’d always stayed in an apartment in Lowtown. She said it helped her stay down to earth. Remember that she was there to help everyone, not just the top 1%.

“Maria, your apartment is tiny,” called Clint. “Is that an honest-to-god Murphy bed?”

“I was on a government salary,” Masha called back. “I could hardly afford anything better and still manage to feed myself for the week.”

“Is it weird being back?” asked Natasha, looking up at where Masha was sitting squished next to her on the armchair.

“Sort of,” she mused. “Somehow, everything’s different, and yet nothing’s changed.”

“I like the different part,” said Natasha, wrapping an arm around Masha. “Different is good. You and me are different now. But that’s better, I hope.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Masha pressed a kiss to Natasha’s forehead. “It’s a little awkward, you seeing where I used to live. It wasn’t the most glamorous period of my life.”

Natasha looked around. “Maybe not the most beautiful surroundings,” she admitted. “But you ran the entire SHIELD outpost in one of the most volatile countries on the planet. That makes you a superhero in my eyes.”

Masha’s eyes were shiny. “You’re amazing, Tasha. How did I get to have a girlfriend like you?”

“Gross,” sang Clint. He made his way over to the girls, but before he reached them, a shot rang out. Natasha didn’t have time to blink before Maria’s body was slamming into hers, and they were both tumbling across the floor. Nat’s vision was blurry, but she could make out Clint at the window, firing an arrow with a look of angry concentration on his face. 

“Masha?” managed Nat, lifting her fingers to see them red and slick, before her woozy head gave in and everything faded.

Nat came to slouched on the uncomfortable leather of the armchair. She glanced around, shaking her head and instantly alert. “Masha? Clint?”

Clint’s voice came from the bedroom. “In here.” Nat hurried to find him, and was horrified when she spotted the once-white bedsheets, now stained a deep red. 

“What happened?” Natasha asked, a look of desperation on her face as she sat gently on the bed next to her prone girlfriend. Masha’s face was twisted in pain, her shirt was so caked with blood it was almost dry, and there was a deep bullet wound visible through the cut-away fabric over her left collarbone.

“Sniper,” said Clint. “We think Maria was its intended target, but she moved to push you out of the way. The sniper wasn’t professional, for sure, but we’re lucky she’s only injured and not dead.”

“Oh my god,” whispered Natasha, stroking Masha’s feverish forehead. “Have you called for a med evac?”

“Twenty minutes ago,” sighed Clint despondently. “There’s a shootout outside that’s been going on for half an hour. Could be related, might not be. Med evac can’t get through, and Maria’s lost a lot of blood, Natasha.”

“Tasha?” whispered Masha. “‘M not— it hurts—“

“I know, sweetie,” breathed Nat, brushing Masha’s hair out of her face. “You just have to hold on for me, okay?”

“Can’t—” she moaned, her eyelids fluttering. “Tash…”

“I’m here.” Nat looked at Clint desperately. “Clint, if we don’t get her some medical, she’s going to die.”

“I removed the bullet,” explained Clint. “But I think it’s becoming infected, and there’s not even a first aid kit in this apartment.”

“I told you we shouldn’t have left our bags on the quinjet,” snapped Nat.

“It was only going to be one day!” said Clint defensively. He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Nat shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She opened them, trying to stop the tears falling, and took Masha’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Masha, I promise,” she whispered. Masha’s eyes were closed, and Nat felt her heart skip a beat, but she was still breathing; irregularly, but constantly. 

“I think her lung is damaged, Nat,” Clint breathed. “Damn it, we really need that med team!”

Masha shifted, letting out a groan of pain, her eyes fluttering open. Her normally sparkling blue eyes were pale and wide, and something squeezes in Nat’s chest at seeing her girlfriend in so much pain. “You’re going to be just fine, Masha,” whispered Natasha. Masha’s eyes blinked slowly, and her breathing relaxed slightly. 

“I’m okay,” Masha mumbled. “Doesn’t hurt any more.”

“No, no, no,” said Natasha frantically. “Masha, stay with me. Stay with me, Masha. You can’t leave me. You can’t give up on me!” Masha’s breathing was slow and laboured. Clint’s phone rang, and he jumped up, taking the call and pacing into a different room. “Masha,” whispered Nat. “You can’t leave me. Please, Maria. Stay with me. I— I love you.”

Masha’s eyes flicked open for a moment. “Tash,” she breathed. “I…” Her eyes closed and her head rolled backwards. 

“Maria!” cried Nat, gently taking her girlfriend’s head in her lap, running her fingers over Masha’s hair. “Masha, you’re okay. Please be okay.” 

Clint burst through the door, panting. “Evac is ten minutes out.” He glanced at Maria, a trickle of blood in the corner of her mouth. “Is everything—”

“We are running out of time, Clint,” said Nat, gritting her teeth. “She’s unconscious, but I don’t know how much longer she can hold on.” Natasha turned back to Maria. “You have to fight for me, Masha, please.”

“Romanoff?” Phil’s voice crackled through Clint’s phone. “Give me a sit-rep.”

“Agent down,” reported Natasha, trying to steady her voice. “GSW to the chest, probable damaged lung. We need a med team ASAP.” Her voice cracked. “Please, Phil. I need her to be okay.”

There was a banging on the door. Clint’s head snapped up. “I’ll go see what it is.”

“Nat, she’s going to be okay.” Phil’s voice was concerned, but certain. “We all care about her. We’re going to make sure she’ll be okay. I’ll get on the phone with the base, tell them to ready the med bay. It’s going to be okay.”

Natasha nodded, knowing Phil can’t hear her. “Yeah. She’s going to be okay.”

There was a soft sound from the bed, and Natasha snapped her head up, hurrying over to Masha’s side.

“Masha?”

“Hey, Tash,” whispered Maria.

“Oh thank god,” murmured Natasha, finally allowing tears to spill down her face. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” repeated Maria. “I’m fine. I’ll probably be back on my feet ready to go back in the field in a week.”

“Uh, no,” said Natasha, shaking her head. “Medical won’t clear you for at least two weeks.”

“I’m sure I can convince them.” Maria’s eyes sparkled.

“Don’t.” Natasha’s voice was quiet. “I nearly lost you today. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Maria’s face softened, and she carefully lifted her right hand to take Nat’s in hers. “You won’t lose me. You’re never going to lose me.” She smiled softly. “I’m always going to be here. And, hey. I love you too.”

Nat started. “You heard that?” Her cheeks went red. 

“Yeah, I did.” Masha squeezed Natasha’s hand. “I know it was a spur of the moment thing, but I’ve felt like this for a while. I think— I realised it a little while ago. During your op in Nairobi. You were so amazing, I was listening to the feed, and I thought— that’s the woman I love. And it scared me at first. But… I love you. That’s a fact.”

“I love you too,” breathed Natasha. “I love you so much. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

“That you have such an awesome girlfriend?” asked Maria, eyes glinting. “You said that already.

“No,” said Nat, shaking her head. “I mean yes, but not that specifically. I’m so lucky that you’re alive. And that you love me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Maria was canonically stationed in a made-up outpost called Madripoor, so I ran with it?
> 
> Obviously I don't own Marvel or any of their characters, organisations or places.  
> \- astra*


	14. Nouakchott, Mauritania (07/06/2009)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I’d be happy to help. Do you mind if I bring my cat?"_

Clint was honest-to-god giggling. It was amusing, but really… not what he was supposed to be doing, so Nat (reluctantly) switched on her comms to talk to him.

“Hey birdbrain, what gives?” His giggling only increased, and she rolled her eyes to the high heavens before jumping down from her perch on the A/C unit, and tackling Clint onto the rooftop. “We do have a job to do. We have a plan. Clint, we have to make sure every step goes perfectly what could you possibly have to laugh at-”

He was panting for breath, and he gestured weakly at her neck, literal tears forming in his eyes.

“Did you- have a fun - night?” he wheezed, snickering and rolling out of her grip.

Natasha hissed and slapped a hand to cover her neck and the hickey Clint had noticed, a blush painting her cheeks. She wasn’t used to concealer, and they had been a little enthusiastic.

“Get back to work, Barton,” she bit out, “and maybe I’ll forgive you if you help me get rid of it by the time Nick gets here?”

Clint agreed, because he was her little brother, in all but blood, because he loved her even if he teased her to kingdom come, and because he was still a little scared of the fact that she could rupture his spleen with her left pinkie, blindfolded.

Their op - it was technically an op, although it was pathetically easy for a Russian super-spy and a Clint - was to take down their mark. He was on the Index, but his power wasn’t much help in a combat situation - he could read minds, if he was touching someone - and he had turned to the dark side. SHIELD had already failed at capturing him, so he had to be taken out.

It had been a stakeout for a couple of days waiting for him to leave the house, but he would show up soon, and Clint could take the shot. The real reason they had accepted the mission was because Nat had recently become privy to some incredibly important intel pertaining to their boss.

It was Nick’s birthday.

He would obviously never accept a birthday party he saw coming, so Nat, Clint, Phil, Masha, Bobbi and Sharon had teamed up to surprise him with a good day.

Nick was Fury to everyone except Nat and Masha, who mostly just called him Nick to mess with him, and one other person. Nat only knew the last fact because she had hacked his phone for about three minutes and found three contacts labelled Annoyance - Annoyances #2 and #3 were her own number and Masha’s, but Annoyance #1 didn’t have a number attached, just a word - pager.

Masha had volunteered for recon, considering she was already supposed to be shadowing him for her job as Deputy Director, and she had found out that Nick had some kind of souped-up pager he carried with him at all times. Clint, being a carney at heart, had swiped it before they left for Mauritania, and sent out a signal with it. It had lit up with some odd symbol that they had put Phil on researching, while Sharon and Bobbi worked themselves to the bone planning the party.

Clint brought Natasha’s attention back to the op with a muttered “Mark” and she scurried back to her perch, wrinkling her nose at the building they were surveilling. Sure enough, the mark had exited, and looked to be making his way downtown - walking fast, actually, which seemed odd for someone who had holed themselves up in a shoddy apartment for days.

Clint squinted down his arrow and loosed it, nodding confidently as it whistled through the air. The mark dropped onto the pavement - no-one noticed, which Nat was thankful for - and Clint started packing away his gear. Nat stopped him, indignant, and reminded him of the plan. She carefully picked up the sat phone, biting her lip to stop her laughter and kicking Clint in the shin when he started snickering.

She took a deep breath to suppress her giggles, and forced herself into a straight face.

“FUBAR. Get Fury over here. Over.” The call would go out to Phil, who would load up a jet and bring Nick to their nearest safehouse, while also alerting Sharon, Bobbi and Masha, who had been on standby. They would set up the safehouse with party gear while Nick and Phil were over the Atlantic, and Nat and Clint would twiddle their thumbs for a bit, waiting for everyone to finish up.

As soon as Clint finished packing away his gear, they made their way to the safehouse to drop off their bags. Nat stole a quick kiss from Masha before Clint dragged her away, complaining.

“Seriously, what does a guy have to do to get some coffee around here?”

They walked hand-in-hand to a coffee shop, bickering good-naturedly the whole way. Nat ordered, getting Clint his usual black coffee and ordering an espresso for herself, before purchasing a chocolate coin each.

Clint dropped the pager onto the table, peering thoughtfully at the blue and red design. He sipped at his coffee absentmindedly as he prodded the pager, drawing his finger away with a guilty look and protests of innocence as it flickered off.

“I didn’t do it!”

Nat rolled her eyes, and snapped her head up as a blonde woman walked into the coffee shop. She carried herself like a soldier, and Nat felt sure she recognised her from somewhere. A photo maybe? The woman caught sight of the pager on their table and made a beeline for them, pulling up a nearby chair.

“Where’s Fury?”

Nat slapped a hand over Clint’s mouth as he opened it to start babbling, and appraised the woman with a cool look.

“It’s Nick’s birthday, so we’re planning him a party. You’re in his contacts as Annoyance #1 - which I take offense at, as I am clearly the ultimate disturbance in his life-” the mystery woman snorted, and grinned at Nat. “-and so we decided to invite you. I’m Natasha Ro- Romanoff, this is Clint Barton, and the others we invited are my girlfriend Maria Hill, our handler Phil Coulson, and our friends Bobbi Morse and Sharon Carter.”

The woman took a bite of Clint’s chocolate coin, ignoring his feeble protest of “Aw, chocolate, no,” and shook Nat’s hand.

“I’m Carol Danvers - Nick’s an old friend from the ‘90s. I was off-planet, which is why it took me so long to get here - I’d be happy to help. Do you mind if I bring my cat?”

They both ignored Clint’s grumbles.

As soon as they’d bought another black coffee for Carol, coffee to go for Masha, Sharon and Bobbi, and they had all drained their coffee cups, the unlikely trio waltzed out of the coffee shop and brought Carol back to the safehouse. She had to leave for a few minutes to bring back her cat - who was called Goose, and instantly warmed to Natasha - but she soon settled right in with the crew, and demonstrated her amazing powers by re-heating the coffee for the other girls.

Clint phoned Phil, and relayed the information that him and Fury were about half an hour out to the rest of the team. Sharon and Carol had taken to each other and were getting on like a house on fire, and Masha and Nat had gone upstairs to ‘hash out mission plans’. It hadn’t been too long since Madripoor, and Masha hadn’t been on any ops since - she wasn’t about to, either, if Nick had anything to say about it. Clint and Bobbi were stuck with each other, but Nat was fairly sure she could hear them rummaging around the party games Sharon had packed.

“Hey, you.” Masha’s voice was quiet, but her eyes were warm and affectionate. Nat turned from where she had been staring down the stairs and led Maria to the tiny bedroom, flopping onto the covers and pulling her girlfriend with her. “We don’t have long, Tash. Nick and Phil will be here soon. You heard Clint.”

Natasha sighed dramatically, but her smile betrayed her as she snuggled under Maria’s arm. For once she was glad to be so short.

“Well then, Ria, I’m going to fall asleep on you on the plane back.” Masha’s snort made Nat blush, and she rolled over to face her.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They spent a while just lying together, Natasha curled up in Maria’s embrace, until there was a hammering at the door.

Everyone jumped into their positions. Sharon flicked the lights out to hide the colourful balloons and streamers and promptly hid behind the bullet-ridden sofa, grinning madly. Carol ducked behind the sofa with her, and they pressed together to make room. Clint moved carefully towards the door, while Bobbi pressed herself into the wall on the other side. Masha hid up the stairs and Natasha took liberal use of her grappling hooks to crawl into the corner where the ceiling met the walls and stay there like a real spider.

Clint edged the door open and ushered Phil and Nick in, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Barton, this does not look particularly FUBAR to me,” Fury growled, as Phil placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Fury, you gotta promise not to freak out,” Clint bartered, as he backed away towards the light switch. “This is not an op gone wrong.” He flicked the switch and the safe house was bathed in a dying, fluorescent light.

There were streamers slung around the ceiling and walls. Bright balloons with ‘59’ on them were littered about the floor, and board games covered the sofa. There was a Twister! sheet on the floor, which luckily no one had managed to slip on, and everyone emerged from their hiding places adorned with manic grins.

“Happy Birthday, Nick!” Nat was the first one to say it, gliding down from her corner like she was on a web, and dangling with a wide grin when he turned to face her.

“Your kids will call you Fury, huh? Yeah, I believe that.” Fury spun around, eye widening as he caught sight of Carol, and he just about jumped out of his skin when Goose rubbed up against his ankles.

“Danvers, tell me you ain’t friends with these heathens?” Nick asked plaintively, reaching down to scratch Goose’s ears. “I tried to keep my number one menace away from the others, and look what happens, huh,” he crooned to Goose, shaking his head at the others. “Two of my top agents are dating and they’ve finally met their vodka aunt. Well, Carol, was this your idea?” he accused, standing up straight with an audible click.

“Not mine. Sharon and Nat’s, from what I can tell.” She hid a snicker and nudged Sharon on the shoulder, offering her a smirk. “I didn’t know you were so old, Nick! The girls tell me you’re 59? They elected to celebrate this year, instead of next year, considering you’ll probably be trying to forget your age next year.”

“I was doing a great job of it this year, too.” He was grumbling, but he seemed to have finally accepted his fate. “Were all of you in on this?” At everyone’s matching nods, he shook his head again and cleared an empty spot on the sofa to fall onto. “I am never trusting any of y’all again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Marvel's characters or organisations, you know the drill.
> 
> -lux


	15. Odessa, Ukraine (10/09/2009)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was a ghost story, but he was standing across the road from them._

This was not how Nat had expected to spend her evening.

She had been on training duty for a while, and she had thought that she would finish up with the new recruits and swing by for dinner with Masha. They hadn’t been out for a while, and Nat had made plans to get Wendy’s and eat it by the river. That was not what happened.

As soon as she had dismissed the rookies, Clint had shown up carrying their mission gear and brown paper bags, presumably with dinner in. He had ignored her protests and pulled up the mission specs Fury had sent over.

They were headed to Iran, to escort some hotshot engineer all the way to Switzerland. Protection detail, Fury had called it, and it should have been a breeze, if a bit time-consuming.

“Clint, why’s Fury sending us? Hand and Hill are a better protection team. You know we’re better at… clean-up ops.” Clint seemed as in the dark as her, but he flipped to the list of threats they would be facing.

“I know, right? Plus, Fury’s added a new face to our most wanted list. He wanted to send you in alone - it should be easy, right? But it feels like there’s something he’s not telling us.” He tapped on the icon labelled ‘Winter Soldier’, pointing out the discrepancies in the facts to Nat. “He’s a ghost story. I trawled the intelligence community… and jesus. He’s credited with more hits than us put together. No way I’m letting you go on this op alone.”

Nat sighed, but accepted her bag and her dinner, and ducked into the locker rooms to change and call Maria to cancel her evening plans. Once she was suited up, she returned to Clint’s side and looped her arm through his, walking together to the Quinjet.

Clint was the best person, ever - he had bought coffee for her, and he had put it in her very expensive thermos that _actually kept it warm_ \- which meant that by the time they landed in Iran, even though it was technically morning and she hadn’t had any sleep, she wasn’t completely exhausted. They both could go days without sleep and still function, but they preferred keeping up with that buzz of caffeine in their blood.

The nuclear engineer was called Sam, and she was a bundle of nerves. Nat didn’t think she’d ever seen someone so scared to see SHIELD agents - annoyed, angry, confused, sure - but Sam was scared of Clint. Clint was basically a puppy! Nuclear engineers weren’t usually in the company of assassins, but still.

Sam reminded Nat of Jemma Simmons, and she found herself wondering how the little scientist was doing. Bobbi was still avidly into science, and still friendly with Weaver, so she got all the Academy gossip while Nat was stuck with listening to Masha complain about agents playing video games while on-duty. Not that Nat wanted to hear about quantum computing or biochemical weapons either, but it was a little more interesting than “he won’t stop playing Galaga!”.

They wanted to set off as soon as possible, but Clint needed time to appropriate a decent off-roader and buy as many tanks of gas as he could. Nat could see that Sam was practically shaking at being left alone with her, which was ridiculous, so Nat took her out for coffee.

Luckily, there was a coffee shop near the airfield. Nat sat down with her espresso and her chocolate, and tried not to laugh at Sam’s tentative purchase of juice and a brownie.

“Clint guzzles coffee like it’s his lifeblood,” she mentioned, offhand, and took pride in the laugh Sam tried to muffle. “Personally, I prefer soda, but when I’ve been awake for days, or I’m in mission mode and need something to keep me going… coffee is absolutely as necessary as any of my kit.”

Sam sipped at her juice, looking thoughtful. “Some of my colleagues are like that,” she offered, “but I’ve always preferred tea.” She giggled at Nat’s dramatic gasp, and Nat celebrated internally.

“Honestly, if we’re going to be road-tripping across half the Middle East and… pretty much all of Europe, we’re going to need to stop for coffee quite a bit.”

By the time they’d finished up in the coffee shop and wandered around the city a bit, Nat had been educated in Iran’s rich history, and Sam was a lot more comfortable. She lit up when she had the chance to explain something to Nat, so she took care to ask about all the different things they saw. The relaxed mood was broken slightly when Nat’s phone buzzed, and she opened it to see a text from Clint.

When she looked up, a car pulled to a stop in front of her, and Clint’s grinning face peered out from the window.

“It has A/C _and_ a heater! So we’ll be fine in Switzerland and fine here.” He looked so pleased with himself, Nat deigned to grant him the coffee she’d bought for him.

They piled into the car - Nat got shotgun because they wanted to keep Sam behind the slightly more tinted windows, and Clint was a far better driver than her. Clint was… usually a better driver than her. When he only had one hand on the wheel and kept turning his gaze towards his coffee instead of the road, though, he tended to start drifting into the wrong lane, or change his speed so he ended up annoying the driver behind them or nearly bumping the car in front.

Sam didn’t seem to notice, but Nat just got more and more frustrated, until she had to confiscate his coffee.

They drove for hours - Nat gave the coffee back when Clint started drooping, but when the caffeine wore off, they pulled over to buy more coffee for themselves, and a blanket, pillow and some juice for Sam. Nat and Clint switched so Nat was driving, but Clint stayed up to keep watch while they let Sam sleep.

The roads through Iran were barely any different from the roads through Turkey or Georgia. By the time they reached the Russian border, Nat was the only one awake, which meant she couldn’t get chewed out by Clint for using her old Red Room papers instead of her SHIELD issue passport. Clint and Sam had woken up and gone back to sleep plenty of times, but Nat just kept restocking on coffee.

She pulled over into the first gas station she reached, and shook Clint awake, his blond hair tousled almost comically. Her own hair was still in the tight plait she’d had it in for training, but the exhaustion of being awake for days was starting to show on her face.

“Hm… five more minutes, Phil.” He blinked his eyes open blearily, and seemed genuinely surprised to see Nat. “Where are we?”

She tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, and offered Clint a weary smile.

“Just arrived in Russia. Think you can take over? I’ll be up once we get to Ukraine, I just-” she yawned, and blinked as if surprised. “I’m tired.”

They switched places again, Sam not even stirring, and Nat burrowed down into the passenger seat, trying to find a comfortable position for a nap.

When she woke, the watery sun was streaming into the car. Clint clearly hadn’t roused her when they got to the border, and when she looked out of the window she could see the sea.

“Sam woke up around Mariupol, and we went out to get food, drink, more supplies.” Nat looked down to find that one of them had covered her with a blanket while she slept. “The kid likes you.”

Nat laughed, her voice scratchy.

“I’m taken. Where are we now? Where’s… where’s Sam?” Her heart jumped into her throat as she realised their charge wasn’t in the backseat. Clint placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“We’re stopped again in a coastal town - Stepanivka Persha, from what I could tell. Sam wanted to stretch her legs and we were low on gas, so I sent her out to get some. She’ll be fine.”

Nat carefully extricated herself from the blanket, feeling as if she was coming out of a haze. She chucked the blanket onto the back seat, where it joined the one Sam had been under, and took the coffee Clint was offering with a grateful smile. Her hair was mussed and there were far more strands coming out of the plait than there had been before, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Clint also had some sweet, sticky baklava left over from when she made a pit-stop in Turkey, which she damn near drooled over.

Once she had finished waking up, she switched over with Clint and they waited for Sam to come back. She wasn’t long; she came trotting back with tanks of gas and a bright smile on her face.

Nat took the coastal road across Ukraine, the Black Sea a vast stretch of beauty on her left, Clint chatting a mile a minute on her right. They managed to drive for nearly seven hours before Clint called for a stop so they could eat.

Sam had been listening to music while they drove along the coast, but she put her headphones away as they pulled into a car park in Odessa.

“What are we going to eat?” She seemed genuinely interested, and Nat didn’t have the heart to tell her that Clint was probably taking them to a Wendy’s.

Luckily, Clint didn’t have the heart to spoil her experience in Ukraine by dragging her along to get a bacon burger. They wound up in a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, which offered ‘genuine Ukrainian cuisine’. Nat doubted that - it seemed like its main clientele were tourists - but they served kievs, and there were burgers on the kids menu. Sam followed Nat in ordering chicken kiev, and Clint proved that he was still not over his circus heritage by ordering three hamburgers.

“We’re not even in Hamburg,” Nat pointed out, to which Clint replied with “We’re not in Kiev either.”

The meal was tasty, the servers were kind, and it was a chance to just… sit. Savour a meal. They didn’t have long before they needed to be on the road again, but it gave Sam a chance to breathe, and with one proper meal, Nat and Clint could go for a while without food.

It was after they’d paid, Clint had flirted with the waiter and they were nearly at the car when Nat chanced a glance behind her shoulder.

The man from the wanted list was standing like a ghost on the other side of the road.

Clint and Sam piled into the car, but her limbs were frozen with fear. It took a friendly call from Clint for her to snap out of it, and she jumped in the passenger seat and slammed the door.

“Drive.”

They pulled out of the car park and had made it a few metres down the coast road before Nat heard shots ring out. The car swerved, and Clint’s alarmed expression indicated that it wasn’t because he was trying a new evasion tactic. They had lost control over the car, and it was with a frenzied horror that Nat watched them go straight over the edge.

Sam was screaming in the back, but Clint was already acting as they hit the water. He grabbed Sam with one hand, barked an order at Nat, and pulled open the driver-side door in one fluid movement. Nat slung the bag she had had at her feet over her shoulder and followed Clint in tugging Sam with them up to the surface.

She thrust her head up through the water and took a gasping breath, swinging around wildly to see the Soldier. He was still standing on the side of the road, looking impassive as ever, and Natalia had to quell the rising memories of the Red Room.

She swam to the roadside, and pulled herself up as best she could. Clint followed with Sam, and they hunkered down behind the railings, waiting to catch their breath. Natalia unzipped the bag, thanking the SHIELD techs to high heaven for making it waterproof, and handed him the sat phone and his bow. She unholstered her Makarov from her jacket and grabbed the Beretta from the bag, pressing it into Sam’s hands.

“Clint, get to shelter, try and phone HQ. Sam, I’m going to cover you, but you need to keep your head, alright?” Once she received affirmation, she straightened and all three of them vaulted the railings. Clint headed for the restaurant while she kept Sam pressed to her back, her gun trained on the Soldier.

He was a ghost story, but he was standing across the road from them. Nat couldn’t bring herself to look away from him. Clint looked in the same direction and the man broke eye contact with Nat for a moment to stare at Clint. She yelled at Clint, and he ducked into the doorway of the restaurant they’d been relaxing in minutes before.

Sam was panicking, but Nat had to ignore her, directing her concentration fully on the man. She could barely breathe as memories of training in the Red Room flooded in, and she let out gasp of surprise as a slug ripped through her and into Sam.

Natasha staggered slightly, a hand pressed tightly to her stomach, watching red stain her clothes and her hand as if it were happening to someone else.

There was a thud behind her and she managed to turn around to see Sam lying prone on the ground, her face frozen in an expression of surprise.

Distantly, she could hear Clint’s shouts, and running feet, and as she fell back she fell into his arms. She fought the urge to close her eyes, and with a great deal of effort, turned her head to face him.

“I knew him.”

Clint’s face was an interesting blend of horrified, confused, and pained. Nat reached up with a trembling hand and held the side of his face, blinking earnestly at him. “He’s called Yasha.”

It was nearing nightfall, and she’d been on the road for days, so Natalia didn’t feel bad about sinking further into Clint’s arms and letting her eyes flutter shut. As if through a wall, she could hear Clint’s protests, but her hands fell to her sides and she drifted away.

\--

Sam was dead, there was no hope for her, but Clint couldn’t care less about his mission. He dropped to his knees, cradling Nat, and scrabbled in the bag she’d left on the ground for the med kit. The enhancements the Red Room had given her included a healing factor, and he was lucky it was a through-and-through, but she had lost so much blood already.

He had phoned HQ, but he picked up the phone again to yell out that he needed a medevac _yesterday,_ that their single best agent was down and bleeding out, and that they needed to keep Maria away from the whole situation.

Needles and thread were beyond him - Carson’s first liontamer had taught him to be an excellent seamstress, but he didn’t think he could handle sewing into his sister’s skin. She seemed so frail in his arms, and her blood was pooling in his lap.

He tore his eyes away from the bloody mess on her stomach for a moment to compose himself and try not to throw up. There were bandages in the medkit, and he bound her stomach tightly, packing extra bandages on either side of the wound to try and stem the bleeding.

Nat’s shirt was soaked in blood, and her right hand was stained red from where she’d been holding. Clint’s trousers were covered in blood that still hadn’t dried, and there was blood on his hands - he tried to wipe them on his shirt but there was still blood everywhere. Blood was seeping through the bandages, so fast - too fast - and as he turned Nat onto her bed to see the exit wound, he noticed that her back was spattered in Sam’s blood.

Phil’s voice crackled in over the sat phone, and Clint could have cried with relief.

_“Medical team is still twenty minutes out, but Fury is pushing to get it there faster. Keep trying to stem the bleeding. Did you see who it was?”_

Clint pressed his hand onto the wound, remembering that applying pressure was a good thing. He figured that he couldn’t elevate her, not really, considering the wound was pretty close to her heart, but he did try and lay her down as flat as possible. The people from the restaurant had been kind enough to stay inside when Clint barricaded the door, and they were on the outskirts of Odessa, so no one was really watching. He remembered to reply to Coulson, trying to think rationally, trying to figure out the best thing to do for Nat.

“It was the new guy on the wanted list. Winter Soldier. Nat said- Nat said she knew him, that he was called Yasha. Check him against any Soviet records we have, alright?” There was no reply from Coulson. “Alright?”

 _“Copy, Barton.”_ It was Maria’s voice, tight and strained, and Clint winced. She would not be happy.

_“You two just focus on getting home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier canonically makes an entrance "near Odessa" and shoots through Nat, although I did take some liberties with the engineer's gender.
> 
> Our first look at Bucky! There will be more of him to come. ;)
> 
> Obviously I don't own any Marvel characters, organisations or storylines.  
> -lux


	16. Portland, USA (04/10/2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We’re there to spy on Phil and his new date.”_

Nat snickered at Pepper’s latest text. They’d grown to be friends, after she’d gotten over the fact that Nat was an international super-spy rather than Natalie Rushman, and Pepper’s dry sense of humour and hilarious anecdotes always spiced up a particularly boring mission.

They were allegedly there as back-up in case Phil’s op failed, but Nat was pretty sure that meant “moral support”, because his op was fine, he just didn’t want to mess up in front of the pretty lady he was supposed to be protecting.

Marcus Daniels was an Index candidate who was stalking Audrey Nathan, a pretty hot cellist. Phil had a plan to take down Daniels, and so far it was going perfectly, but he had called in Delta just in case. Clint was getting updates from one of the agents Phil had with him, and from what they could tell, there was genuinely no reason for them to be there, other than Phil’s worry at messing up in front of the pretty girl.

Pepper agreed with Nat. She was sure if she asked Clint, he would agree too, but Clint was all the way on the other side of the room, and she was snuggled in her blanket, and she could not be bothered to go get him, so she texted Maria instead.

 **tash:** we’re here for moral support and that is it. i feel used.

 **masha:** Where does Coulson have you now? Also, bug him about it. It’s the middle of the night in Canberra.

Nat swore and looked forlornly at her phone. She’d feel bad if she had woken Maria up, but knowing Maria, her texts were probably just keeping her from going to sleep.

 **tash:** oregon. he’s here cos he’s trying to impress a pretty girl. i’m upset :(

 **masha:** Oh, Stumptown?

Nat had no idea what she meant by that. At all.

 **tash:** um, no. portland.

 **masha:** Oh my God.

Then there was an audio file of Maria’s breathless laughter, and Nat couldn’t help a smile spreading across her face. She untangled herself from her covers to pad across the room to Clint, and showed him the texts. He laughed, too.

“Natty, Stumptown is a nickname for Portland. Plus, I think Maria has friends here.” He gestured at where a new text had come in.

 **masha:** If you’re in the mood for good booze, check out the Bad Alibi and tell Gray that Dex sent you.

 **tash:** will do. gtg, love yooouuuu xxxxxxx

 **masha:** Love you.

Nat flicked from Maria’s contact to Phil’s, frowning as she saw there were no unread messages.

 **tash:** philllll seriously we’re getting bored

Clint grabbed his go-bag, and kicked Nat’s across the floor to her.

“Let’s go see what’s going on.” He tugged on his hoodie and tossed Nat her leather jacket, trading grins. “At the very least, we can help Phil get a date.”

Nat agreed with Clint, and her phone only buzzed when they were in the backseat of a cab and already homing in on Phil’s position.

 **phil:** It’s under control, Natasha!  
**phil:** Daniels has been handled. I’m making sure Ms Nathan is alright.

Nat shook her head and smiled bemusedly at the screen.

“Is he missing the fact that she’s both hot and available?” Clint bumped her in the shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re hot, and decidedly not available. Keep it in your pants, Long-Legs.”

The taxi driver dropped them off in front of Audrey’s house, and Clint and Nat shared a look when they saw Phil’s abandoned SHIELD car. Nat knocked, because she was polite, dammit, and the door opened to Phil’s alarmed face. The alarm quickly morphed to exasperation, and he called out, presumably to Audrey.

“It’s just my agents. They were here for backup, and they just wanted to check up on you.” He let them in with a shake of his head, and Nat flounced into the sitting room, taking a seat on the sofa next to Audrey. Phil followed with Clint in a friendly headlock, and Audrey stifled a giggle. “Audrey, these are Agents Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. I’m their handler - we’re a team called Strike Team Delta.”

There was no mistaking the flush of pride Nat and Clint both felt at being part of a STRIKE team and having Phil announce them like that. Audrey smiled at them, her hands lying in her lap.

“Thank you for coming, agents, but really I’m fine. Dan- Daniels is going away into one of your prisons and he won’t be able to find me again.” She nodded like she was reassuring herself more than them, and Nat hid a grin and Phil reached over to squeeze her hand. “I’m so grateful for what you’ve done - is there anything I can do for you?”

Phil flushed bright red.

“This is our job, Miss Nathan - and we’re happy to do it. Keeping people like you safe is reward enough-” he was cut off by Nat elbowing him surreptitiously in the side.

“I understand you play in an orchestra?”

Audrey lit up and nodded, beaming. “I play second chair cello in the Portland Philharmonic! That’s a great idea; I can get tickets for you three!”

Clint opened his mouth to say something but Nat reached out quickly to stomp on his foot.

“Clint and I are meeting with a friend at one of the local bars - we’d love to see you play but we already have a meeting time set. But- oh, I bet Phil would love to come! You could show him all around the backstage area! I was a ballet dancer,” she confided, “and I always loved the backstage. I’m sure Phil will love it too, especially if he gets to be shown round by someone as lovely as you.”

There was a beat of silence before Phil started stammering out how he would love that, how he would be delighted to see her play, how he did love theatres. Clint had a look of confusion on his face, poor dear, but Audrey didn’t seem to have noticed anything off.

Nat and Clint had to say their goodbyes fairly soon after that, but they left Phil to keep chatting as they exited arm-in-arm.

“So obviously we’re crashing the orchestra-” “Natty, no!” Nat pouted and cocked her head to look up at Clint, using her best pleading face. “But I already have a decent dress. I can’t let it go to waste, can I?”

Clint barely lasted five seconds before releasing a long sigh. “Oh my God, fine.”

“Great! So we’re crashing - it’ll be fine, I can weasel tickets out of someone - and we’re there to spy on Phil and his new date.”

“It’s not technically a date, we’re going to be there.”

“Clint, comrade, that’s why we’re not telling them we’re going.”

Clint took a moment to contemplate the plan.

“Nat, Coulson is a spy. He literally teaches a class on situational awareness.”

“People become dumb when they fall in love. Like you ogling the Winter Soldier before he literally shot me.”

Clint took a moment to contemplate how best to murder a Russian superspy and get away with it.

“Yeah, well, you become dumb every time you think you have a text from Maria.”

Nat gasped and shoved him a little, pulling him back when she saw he was in the way of other pedestrians. “I absolutely don’t do-” her phone buzzed and she had it open in less than a second, before sheepishly realising that she was proving Clint’s point.

 **pepper:** I had the dress and the tux sent to your hotel room. They should be waiting for you. Send pics!!!

Nat grinned a predatory grin.

Once they reached the hotel, the clothes Pepper had sent over were lying in boxes in front of the door to their room. Nat scooped them up with a smug look on her face and hustled Clint inside, starting to toe off her shoes as soon as the door slammed shut.

“Hurry up and get changed, we don’t have long.”

Pepper had asked for pictures, so pictures Nat had to take. The dress she had packed was tight-fitting, black, and fitted Nat like it was made for her. Clint cut a dashing figure in his simple tux, but Pepper had included a waistcoat which actually really suited him.

 **pepper:** looking good!!!!!

The Portland Philharmonic Orchestra was very, very good. Nat had managed to smuggle them in without tickets, and once they reached backstage, she had taken off her criminally high heels to make her way up to the lighting rigging. Clint had left his suit jacket with her heels and rolled up his sleeves - the look gave Nat pause, and she resolved to get Maria into a waistcoat and shirt - and to get her to roll up her sleeves - next time they went out together.

Once they were situated at their vantage point, overlooking the crowds and stage, Nat slipped an arm around Clint’s waist and leaned into his side, smiling smugly when his arm wrapped around her shoulders almost unconsciously.

“Let’s settle in and listen, hmm?”

Audrey was very good. The whole orchestra was very good - Nat was reminded of her ballet exercises, but the memories weren’t accompanied by the usual guilt and sadness.

When the performance was over, they watched Phil go backstage, arm in arm with Audrey, and traded knowing grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Audrey Nathan is a character mentioned on both Agents of SHIELD and briefly, in Avengers: Assemble, when the response to if Coulson had family was "a cellist".
> 
> The stuff about Grey and the Bad Alibi... there's a show called Stumptown that Cobie Smulders stars in, and astra and I are building up the Cobie Smulders cinematic universe - so it's not necessary to the plot, but Maria has a cover as Dexadrine Perios in Stumptown, where she has a friend called Grey who works a bar.
> 
> Obviously I don't own any Marvel (or Stumptown) characters or organisations that may appear.  
> \- lux!


	17. Quito, Ecuador (29/12/2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He couldn’t tell why he opened the tab back up with Barton’s file and began reading it through again. He was a genuine threat, he told himself. He was already acquainted with Natalia, but Barton - he had to learn everything he could. That was why he was so focused on him._

The Soldier had been camped outside the Triskelion for days. He had a perfect vantage point into several windows, camera feed from the whole buildings and his surveillance was so good he could read texts on an agent’s phone.

He was allegedly scoping out the HYDRA ranks within SHIELD, but more and more often he found himself paying unusually close attention to the agents that called themselves Strike Team Delta.

Ever since Odessa, they had captured his attention. He had remembered Natalia - she had been a prodigy. He had enjoyed teaching her - she had called him Yasha rather than Soldat, had been graceful, and they had pretended they were dancers rather than assassins.

The man - Clinton Francis Barton, alias Hawkeye, born June 18th 1984. Son of Edith and Harold Barton; both deceased. One brother, Charles Bernard ‘Barney’ Barton, alias Trickshot, whereabouts and status unknown. Barton was trained in Carson’s Travelling Circus, and joined SHIELD age 18. The Soldier had read the information packet before he had been sent to Iran to follow the engineer. Barton should have been simple to understand, easy to figure out. But he wasn’t.

The man was intelligent and deadly, yet at once friendly and acting as if he were a fool. Acting the part of a fool was something the Soldier didn’t understand, although he could see the tactical benefits. Fools were often underestimated.

Natalia and Barton had been staying in their base for all the days the Soldier had been there, but Talia had left to visit restaurants and parks with the Deputy Director - the Soldier was disappointed in how long it had taken him to realise the two were dating - and she had dragged Barton to eating out for dinner one day.

Today was different. The pair of agents normally started their day by meeting up with each other, their handler Coulson, and with the Deputy Director in the cafeteria - and guzzling coffee - but today Natalia had woken early, grabbed coffee for three people, and headed to wake Barton. She had given him the coffee, explained something that required frantic arm gestures, and directed him to start packing clothes.

Natalia had packed a bag the night before, the Soldier noticed as he ran through the tapes, cursing himself for missing that. He hadn’t been able to get into her phone, so he scanned the tapes he had for a glance at her phone - there.

 **pepper:** i booked your flight! You should be in the airport at 8:00 to get there in time. I have clothes for you already in Quito, including the ones you wanted for Maria ;)  
 **pepper:** see you then!!!!!

The Soldier turned his eyes back to the current feed, almost frantic. Barton was packing - he wasted a second watching the muscles on his back and shoulders - and Natalia was making the familiar walk to Hill’s flat.

He tracked her as she made her way through DC, but shook his head, closing the laptop with the camera feed and grabbing his sat phone.

“I need a flight to Ecuador. I’m tracking.. assets.” His voice was raspy from disuse, but that only served to make him sound all the more intimidating, as evidenced by the stammer of assent the agent on the other end of the line let out.

There was no reason for the Soldier to track the Delta agents all the way to Ecuador. They had been invited by a friend - Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts, whom Natalia had grown close to - and it wasn’t a mission, wasn’t anything sinister or even damaging to HYDRA. From what he could find out as he hastily searched up “Stark Industries Quito Ecuador”, Stark was hosting a New Year’s Gala… a few days before New Year’s. It was an SI event, so it would be beyond simple to slip in and keep an eye on the agents.

Natalia had been a good student. She was dangerous, he knew that - he could probably take her in a fair fight, but they had both been trained to always fight dirty, and she would have Barton, maybe Hill as backup - engaging would not be advisable. He had no real reason to follow them all the way to Ecuador other than a sense of personal duty.

The Soldier had helped train Natalia, and he felt somewhat obligated to see how she was doing. After he had shot her. In his defence, it was a through and through.

Barton fascinated him. He had no reason to obsess over the agent the way he did, but Barton was like a glimpse into a life he… never had. The young agent had friends - a close friend who was almost a sibling to him, a team of agents, a sharply-dressed agent handling him, even a Carter and a Stark among his friends. The Soldier had no idea why those things meant anything to him, no idea why he expected Hill to be called Peggy or Pepper to be called Maria - the names floated around in his head like a broken record, catching disjointed snatches of sound or repeating the same nonsensical dreams over and over again.

The Soldier was malfunctioning again. The only problem with long operations was that the longer the Soldier spent out of the chair, out of the ice, the more malfunctions happened. His brain started throwing new names, faces, memories at him. Usually he could dismiss them, but watching Barton’s life through a window, watching a sandy mop of blond hair or hearing someone yelling for Carter in the background - there were flashes of fire, flashes of ice, and through it all a face both familiar and completely unknown.

The Soldier shook his head, as if he could physically clear his thoughts, and began loading his gear into his bags. So long as the HYDRA agent had done his job, the Soldier was on his way to Quito.

\--

Ecuador wasn’t going to be all that hot, but it was warmer than DC, so the SI gala was being held both inside and out. That meant more opportunities to slip in unnoticed - the SI protection measures had become less and less useful as people started fearing the wrath of Iron Man, so it would be a piece of cake to case the place, spy on the Delta agents for a bit, and leave again.

He would gain barely anything from the endeavour, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind and settled a laptop on the tray table. The plane was due to take off in just a few minutes, and the woman seated next to him was already asleep, so it seemed a decent time to trawl through his notes about Quito. There was a large Stark Industries headquarters there, and Tony Stark himself was going to be in the country, hosting a huge New Years’ party. Luckily for the Soldier, it was a masquerade ball.

He flicked through hotel websites and booked himself a room in a tiny motel - near enough to the gala to walk, but not anywhere near any SHIELD safehouses where the agents might be staying. Then he switched to Amazon, ordering a mask to be delivered to his room. If he was disguised well enough, he could get close enough to the agents to keep an eye on them. Maybe he could even talk to them.

He couldn’t tell why he opened the tab back up with Barton’s file and began reading it through again. He was a genuine threat, he told himself. He was already acquainted with Natalia, but Barton - he had to learn everything he could. That was why he was so focused on him.

\--

The plane landed halfway through the afternoon of the 30th, and he spent most of the rest of the day checking and checking again that he wouldn’t be recognised by anyone on the guest list.

The party itself began at five the next day. By the time five o’clock rolled around, the Soldier was getting impatient. Another malfunction; the longer he was out of cryo the more malfunctions occurred. Impatience was not a good trait in a soldier that ended up doing hour long stake-outs.

The Soldier would show up a little after the very beginning, hopefully early enough not to be remarked on as late but late enough not to be remarked on as early. It was a difficult balance to get right, but the most important thing was getting in without being noticed.

His mask covered his face well enough that Natalia wouldn’t recognise him, and he cut his hair with a vicious sort of glee, watching the greasy, lanky lengths swim down the drain of the sink. The tuxedo he put on was highbrow enough that he would fit right in.

The gala was outside a property that Stark owned, so it was child’s play to slip past the fence and enter the garden. A few nods to some startled millionaires and waylaying a waiter to pick up a flute of champagne, and he was in.

The agents were stood close to Stark and Potts. Neither of the hosts were wearing masks, but the Soldier picked out the agents from their hair - they were all sporting identical, simplistic eye masks. Natalia was wearing a floor-length dress that gave her the appearance of a princess, which starkly contrasted with Potts’ tight, short black dress. Barton, Stark and Hill were all wearing some variant of tuxedo - Hill had lost the jacket and instead had a waistcoat and flouncy shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and Barton seemed uncomfortable in the tight-fitting trousers and jacket - he wasn’t wearing a tie, and his top button was undone.

The Soldier thought he looked wonderful. A little rumpled, but handsome. Stark turned and caught his gaze, and the Soldier realised abruptly that he had been staring. Unable to slip away now Stark had noticed him, he was forced to move closer when the billionaire waved him over.

“Now, I don’t recognise anyone usually without masks, so you’re going to have to introduce yourself,” he joked somewhat curtly, Potts’ hand sneaking onto his back.

“James.. James Rogers,” the Soldier replied, the name pulled from nowhere. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dr. Stark.” The man laughed - Potts and Natalia joined in, though Barton seemed to be fixated on the Soldier. He might not even have heard.

“No need for that! I might have three doctorates, but that doesn’t mean I’m stuffy. Plus, I don’t have an MD, so any medical doctor would be put out if I were to go around calling myself Doctor Stark.”

“Don’t worry, hon - you’re not competent enough for anyone to believe you’re a medical doctor.” Natalia burst into laughter at Potts’ statement, and even the stoic Hill let out a tiny snicker - yet Barton remained frozen. At Natalia’s gentle nudge, however, he licked his lips and nodded, tearing his gaze away from the Soldier.

“Ah, James, um - where are you from? Not Quito, I’m assuming.”

“Brooklyn.” The word was spoken without the Soldier even thinking. He didn’t live in Brooklyn, had never been on a mission in Brooklyn, and had no idea why he had said it. While he was agonising, Barton had begun to speak again.

“Hey, same! Well, I’ve got an apartment in Bed-Stuy, but I spend most of my time in DC. Work.” He shrugged. “I’m Clint, this is Nat and Maria, and I’m sure you know Pepper. And Stark, obviously.” He traded grins with the latter, before reaching out to swap his empty glass with a full one - without even looking.

“We all work for a branch of the government which means we’re often in other countries on assignment, but we had vacation time stored up, and seeing as Pepper invited us…” Hill trailed off, bumping fists with Potts. “How about you? Investor, employee, donor?”

The Soldier offered a smile, though he realised quickly his mask covered his mouth. “I’m a plus one of a donor, actually, but she was ill, so I’m here alone.” He chanced a glance at Barton. “My sister, Becca.”

Again, the name popped out of nowhere, but saying ‘my sister, Becca’ seemed as natural as if he’d done it a thousand times before. There was an increasing discomfort within the soldier, and he took a steadying breath to ground himself - though every time he made eye contact with Barton, his stomach seemed to flip.

“Have we met?” Natalia had been mostly quiet, apart from joining in with laughing, but she seemed wary now, on guard. “Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Not that I know of?” He shrugged, and began formulating an exit plan. “It’s been lovely, but I think I need to get back to the hotel-”

“I’ll walk you.”

Barton’s quiet offer startled the Soldier, and clearly startled Natalia and Hill. “Really I’m fine - stay, enjoy the party-”

“It’s no problem. Not that I’m not enjoying the party,” he hastily amended, looking earnestly at Stark, “but - well - I’ll walk you,” he finished lamely, blinking at the Soldier.

He hadn’t planned for this. There shouldn’t be any harm in it, other than the ever-present risk of being recognised, and there was some small, inexplicable part of the Soldier that wanted Barton to walk him back to the hotel.

“If you’re sure,” Natalia interjected, brow furrowed. She glanced between Barton and the Soldier, and he held his breath, waiting for her to call him out - but she cracked a small smile and waved them away, turning to Hill.

The Soldier cocked his head, and Barton smiled sheepishly, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him away from the agents. The Soldier short-circuited at the touch, and something in him snapped.

They made it to the edge of the garden before the Soldier fell to his knees, a flood of memories filling the dusty corners of his mind.

“James!”

The name made Bucky flinch, and he took a deep breath, taking Clint’s offered hand and hauling himself to his feet.

“Sorry. Sorry, I - I don’t know what happened.” Clint smiled ruefully, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders.

“You probably just had a little too much bubbly. Did you know your accent’s got stronger?” Bucky shook his head absentmindedly, and swung his head round to stare into Clint’s eyes.

He had been associating Clint with Steve. The hair was similar, they both got into too many fights than was good for them - but the eyes were a different blue.

“My - uh, the hotel is, just around the corner,” he remarked, somewhat breathlessly. “Your eyes are a different blue.”

“Different to what, Jamie?” Clint snorted. “Don’t tell me different to each other. I already got broken ears, don’t tell me I got mismatched eyes.”

“Different to Steve.”

There was a moment of silence between them, punctuated by their footfalls on the pavement - growing closer to the hotel - before Clint opened his mouth.

“Who’s Steve, James?”

Bucky let out a hoarse laugh, and fell back, leaning heavily against the wall of the hotel, casting his gaze upwards. “He’s dead, an’ I never got to see him again. I saw Howard again, but not Steve, and now I never will.”

Clint drew Bucky in for a hug, and held him tightly, swaying slightly in the still air.

“It ain’t your fault, Jay, promise me you don’t think that.” They broke apart, and Clint peeled off his mask, staring at Bucky with a pleading look in his eyes.

“I - I don’t. Promise.”

Clint nodded, and hesitantly drew closer to Bucky, pulling his mask off. Bucky’s hands flew up desperately to cover his face, but it was too late. Clint drew back as if he’d been burned, and Bucky fled inside the hotel, leaving the mask and Clint abandoned outside.

\--

Clint stared in confusion at where the Winter Soldier - or James Rogers, or whoever - had fled from him, into the hotel and up the stairs. He should have twigged that he was talking to a deadly assassin and not some Brooklyn homebody as soon as he saw the man, but there had been something about him that had attracted Clint, and like a typical guy, he had been thinking with the wrong head.

He turned away from the hotel, preparing to walk back to the gala, and glanced at the mask in his hand, before coming to a painful realisation.

“Nat is gonna kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Hope this was a good enough reward :)
> 
> Obviously I don't own Marvel or their characters or organisations!  
> -lux :)


	18. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil (16/03/2011)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know that little girl we met today?”_
> 
> _“The creepy perfect church girl? Yeah. What about her?”_

They were expecting to be greeted by Mrs Dean, or possibly her husband, Frank. But when their chauffeur pushed open the doors to the large mansion, the agents were greeted by a girl, no older than ten.

“Can I take your hats?” she asked politely. Startled, Maria tugged her baseball cap off and clutched it in her hand.

“Uh, hi. We’re looking for the Deans?”

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Karolina Dean. My mother’s busy right now, but she’ll be with you in a few moments.” Karolina reached out to take Maria’s hat, and she reluctantly let go.

“Hi, Karolina. How old are you?” This little girl unsettled her slightly. She was too neat, too polite, too perfect.

“I’m ten. I’ve just finished fourth grade.”

“In the US?” clarified Nat.

“Of course. We’re only here in the summer sometimes. I live in LA.” Karolina smiled, a spark in her eyes that did more to reassure Maria than all the politeness in the world. “I’ve got loads of friends at school. Their parents work with my mom!”

“Yeah?” asked Clint, grinning at the little girl.

“Yeah. My best friend is Chase. He’s funny. Everyone says we’re dating, but we’re not. Boys are gross.”

Maria and Nat shared a knowing look. “Yeah. Boys are pretty gross.”

“Karolina!” a sharp voice called. Maria looked up to see a woman descending the stairs. “Are you distracting our guests? I’m sorry about her. Go and do your homework, Karolina.” Karolina nodded, something flashing in her eyes, and ran off. The woman stuck out a hand to Clint. “I’m Leslie Dean. I was only expecting two of you.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” explained Maria. “My name’s Agent Hill. I’m actually taking my vacation time here, with these two, but their meeting with you was first on the agenda. I hope you don’t mind if I stay here while you have your meeting.”

“Of course not,” said Leslie, looking like she meant anything but. “We’d be happy to host any friends of SHIELD.”

“Natasha Romanoff, and this is Clint Barton,” said Nat, shaking Leslie’s hand. “We’d like to discuss how SHIELD can work in conjunction with your church, and how you could potentially be considered an asset to us.”

“Certainly,” said Leslie smoothly. “If you’d come through here, please. Julien, please show Agent Hill to the drawing room.” She led the other agents through a doorway, and the chauffeur tried to wave Maria through a different way.

“That’s okay, thank you,” said Maria. “I’ll just have a quick look around.” Julien looked reluctant, but Maria Hill was the deputy director of SHIELD. She could handle a chauffeur. She made her way through the corridor, pushing doors open. There were a couple of offices, a bathroom, and finally she pushed open the door of a small room decorated in pillows, blankets, and glitter. She couldn’t help a laugh of surprise.

Karolina turned around, alarm in her eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“That’s okay,” said Maria, shrugging. “I’m pretty important. I’m supposed to be anywhere I like.” She smiled at the little girl, who smiled hesitantly back. “Can I come in?”

“Okay,” nodded Karolina. “You can sit here.” She shifted a teddy bear off the chair next to her into her lap and Maria obediently sat down on the chair. “I’m supposed to be doing homework.”

“Can I help?” Maria offered. Karolina looked up, surprised.

“Maybe. I’m not good at maths. Are you?”

“I’m not awful,” she shrugged. “I used to tutor my friend Marian.”

“My parents want to get me a tutor,” admitted Karolina. “But they said maybe next year. Daddy said we should wait and let me be a kid first.”

“Your dad sounds smart,” smiled Maria.

“He is. He’s nicer than my mom. My mom’s kind of bossy. But she loves me.”

“Yeah,” said Maria softly. “Hey, what’s that bracelet? That looks pretty cool.”

“It’s a church bracelet,” said Karolina proudly, showing it off. “It means I’m part of the church. I never take it off.”

“Never?” Maria asked, taken aback. “Woah.”

“Nico says it’s dumb,” said Karolina sadly. “They don’t get the church. Eiffel said it was a cult.”

“Do you care what Nico or Eiffel says?” asked Maria.

“Not Eiffel. But Nico’s my friend. I like her lots. She’s cooler than me, and super pretty. I really want her to like me too.”

“I know she does,” promised Maria, smiling. “She’s your friend. That means she likes you lots.”

“I hope so,” said Karolina. “Are the other agents your friends?”

Maria laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. My best friend’s called Phil. Clint’s my friend too.”

“What about the other girl?” asked Karolina curiously.

Maria breathes in. “Uh, Nat’s actually my girlfriend.”

Karolina looked blank. Maria sighed. “You know how people think you and Chase are dating?” Karolina nodded. “Well, me and Nat actually are dating.”

Karolina looked deeply taken aback. “You can do that? Two girls?”

“Yeah.” Maria swallowed. “Has your mom ever said anything about that?”

“No,” said Karolina, and Maria let out a breath. “What’s it called?”

“Liking another girl? It’s called being gay, or lesbian, or bisexual,” explained Maria.

“Oh.” Karolina suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Maria was instantly on edge. She knew she was probably reading too much into things — that her own experience was bleeding through into this. But if there was anything going on with Karolina, she wanted to be the one to see it.

“My mom told me I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my friend Ellie any more. She said people would think I was a lesbian.”

Maria breathed a curse under her breath. “Did you like Ellie?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be her friend. I wanted her to pay attention to me.”

“Look, Karolina, there’s nothing wrong with that, okay? No matter what your mom says. But please, don’t say anything to your mom about this. I… This can be our little secret, okay? Keep it safe for me.” _Keep yourself safe_. As quick as she could, Maria dropped the subject, and turned the conversation to the pie charts lying on Karolina’s desk.

Maria leaned her head on Nat’s shoulder. They were sitting on deck chairs beside the hotel pool, watching Clint messing about in the water. Nat’s arm was around Maria, and she sighed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Nat, dropping her arm and twisting to face Maria. Maria shook her head, trying to clear her mind.

“You know that little girl we met today?”

“The creepy perfect church girl? Yeah. What about her?”

“I hung out with her while you were talking to Leslie Dean. We had some enlightening conversations.” Maria recounted her conversation to Nat, who looked gradually more and more resigned. “She might not be gay. But she shouldn’t have to live with a mom like that. I mean, what if her mom’s really dangerous?”

“She runs a church, Mash,” said Nat softly. “I’m not saying she’s not homophobic. But she preaches non-violence.”

“Yeah, well, so does Christianity,” snapped Maria. Nat gently touched her shoulder and she flinched away.

“This matters to you, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t read my file,” Maria scowled. She turned away, eyes narrowed.

“Okay, yeah, I’ve read your file. But you can’t tell me you haven’t read mine, or Phil’s, or Clint’s, or the non-redacted parts of Fury’s. That’s not what this is about, Maria. I get that you’re on edge. But there’s no reason to push me away.”

Nat’s words, although firm, had no malice behind them. Maria felt herself softening, and she turned back to face her, her eyes prickling embarrassingly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Nat’s voice was quiet, but there was a hint of a small smile. “Do you want to talk about it? Even though you know I know?”

Maria laughed wetly. “It just— I don’t want her to go through what I did. My dad—” She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I left for the army for a reason. My dad hated me. I was afraid of him my whole life. I never came out to him because I was— I was afraid of what he’d do to me.” Almost unconsciously, her fingers curled around her upper arms, tracing the tiny burn scars his cigarettes had left. 

“Masha, I’m so sorry,” whispered Nat. She gently reached out her hand, allowing Maria to take it and squeeze it. 

“I just wish there was something I could do to make life better for Karolina,” admitted Maria, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “I don’t want anyone to go through what I did.”

“Did you give her your card?” asked Nat. Maria nodded. “Well, then, you’ve done something. If her mother ever does something, if she’s afraid, there’s someone she can call. You’re an option, for her. Did you have options?”

Maria shook her head. 

“You’re a wonderful person, Masha, for caring so much about her,” said Natasha. “Hey, come here. It’s okay. I’m really proud of you for telling me about it. That was really brave.”

“What,” laughed Maria. “Telling you I was such a pathetic kid my own dad hit me? That’s not brave, Nat.”

“Yes. It is.” Nat’s voice was hard. “If I ever got to meet the man who made you think that, I don’t know what I’d do. But you survived the one person in your life who was supposed to protect you scarring you. You came out the other side. And you’re a pretty damn awesome person. Despite what he did to you.” 

Maria hummed, her head buried in Nat’s chest. She wasn’t sure she agreed. But she was tired, and Nat was warm and soft and it was easier to just try and believe her.

“I’m proud of you, Masha. You’re the bravest person I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Astra here. This chapter includes a family from Marvel's Runaways, which is a super good TV show!
> 
> We don't own any of marvel's characters or organisations!  
> -astra!


	19. Syracuse, Sicily (18/06/2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You are not the only one who is grieving, Nat! You’re not the only one in pain!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for... just about everything, suicide attempt and suicidal thoughts, lots of blood and killing - generally somewhat darker than the previous chapters.

Natalia was sat hunched over, her arms wrapped around her knees, perched up in one of Clint’s hiding spots on the roof. It was early - too early for many people to be awake - which was how she liked it.

She had been with Clint and Phil for years. They were her family. She was closer to the people at SHIELD than she had ever been with Madame B or any of the recruits in the Red Room - she had let Maria in, had let Clint and Phil help her - they were her family, in everything but blood. Natalia had never experienced loss. She had struggled all her life - lived in misery, killed people, grieved for girls she grew up with but never got to know - but she had never felt the agony of having someone ripped away from her. Never experienced the raw pain of her family being taken while she could do _nothing_.

Clint, Maria and Phil were her family, and had been by her side when she was learning to be a SHIELD agent, through the debacle at Helsinki, every step of the way through her recovery after Odessa. And she had been with them too - for Clint in Iowa and Quito, for Maria in Kabul and Madripoor, and for Phil in Portland with Audrey.

 _Audrey_. God, what would they tell her?

Clint had been possessed by a god, been made to fight Natalia, and while they were forced to fight each other, he had killed Phil. Stabbed him through the heart.

He had done the same to Natalia.

Strike Team Delta was headed by Phil. It was a second chance for Clint and for Natalia, an opportunity for them to do good in the world, and Phil had believed in them, had helped them make their way in SHIELD - hell, he had even helped them to become “Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

What had she said to _him?_ “I’ve got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.” How _naive_ of her, to think she could ever be more than a Russian assassin - without Phil, how was she supposed to live? He had been a father to her, to Clint, to Maria - he had made her a hero. He had made her coffee and delivered sandwiches to them and pulled them out of countless sticky spots. Clint would run himself into the ground without Phil, Maria would shut down, shut everyone out, and Natalia? How could she go on? Who would keep her from just straightening up - stepping out - there was no one. She could fling herself off, and then she’d be with him - she’d be leaving Maria and Clint, but who were they without Phil? Without any one of those three Natalia would be dead in a ditch - in Abidjan, or Budapest, or Cairo - who was she without Phil? Natalia Alianovna Romanova was dead without him, so how could Natasha Romanoff keep on breathing now?

She got to her feet, unsteady, and moved to stand on the edge, rising to a demi-pointe. The Red Room had trained her as a ballerina and a gymnast, and she could keep her balance, but she barely wanted to. A noise came from behind her and she lost her footing, but a hand caught her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her back onto the roof.

Natalia turned around, eyes wide, to see the fuming face of the Deputy Director of SHIELD.

“What were you _thinking?!_ ”

It wasn’t anger laced into her words - well, there was anger, but it was more fear, which unsettled Natalia more than anything.

“You are not the only one who is grieving, Nat! You’re not the only one in pain!”

“Don’t try and tell me you know how it feels!” The words were ripped from Natalia’s throat, and it felt painful to do - normally anger burnt hot and fierce inside her, but there was something dark, something coldly vile that she found herself swallowed up by. There was no satisfaction in spitting words at Maria, no crafty smile or smug smirk. “Don’t tell me you know what it’s like! He was a father to me!”

“And he was a brother to me!” Maria was roaring, but tears tracked down her cheeks, doing little to dim the explosive energy she was radiating. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s suffered!”

Natalia couldn’t help the writhing, angry mess inside her from controlling her, from fuelling her pain and inciting her words. She scoffed at her girlfriend, paying no heed to the consequences of her words, needing to make someone else _hurt_ the way she did.

“What have you suffered, Maria? At least you’ve had someone to love you - at least you’ve had somewhere to go! When things got bad for you, you ran away to join the army! You ran! I was handcuffed to my bed at night! I couldn’t run - I had no escape, no cowardly way out! I built my life here from the ground up and it’s worth nothing without him!”

“I’m a coward? I wasn’t the one trying to throw herself off a roof rather than face it when life got too hard!”

“At least Coulson wanted me and Clint! What were you, huh? Fury’s little pet, his little lapdog - not Coulson’s agent, not on his team!”

“And where was his team to help him? You were too busy having a catfight with Barton to protect anyone on the Helicarrier!”

“I WAS PROTECTING THEM! You think any agent there stood a chance against Barton? He was possessed! I was keeping him from doing something he would regret! Where were you? YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!”

Maria reeled back, and Natalia knew she’d said something she’d regret later - but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“If you hate me so much, just leave! Just go! I was trying to save you, but you’re a lost cause! Take Barton and leave, and don’t come back!”

There were tears on Maria’s face, Natalia realised belatedly, but before she could open her mouth and make it worse, Maria turned her back and stormed off.

Sinking to her knees, Natalia withdrew her cell from her pocket and texted Clint, her own eyes hot with tears.

 **tash:** get us a mission, i don’t care what you have to do, we’re getting out of here.

Barely a minute later, she got a reply.

 **clint:** done.

She packed in a rush, stuffing tac gear and weapons into a bag. She reached for the Beretta almost unconsciously, but hesitated, and withdrew her hand. Slinging the strap around her shoulder, she raced down the halls of the Triskelion, ignoring the faces of the agents, peering around corners. The Battle of New York had added a whole new dimension to her intimidation factor with the juniors, but the agents she’d known for years were only a little scared of her - and they would probably ask why the Black Widow was crying and tearing through the Triskelion without the Deputy Director, her handler or her partner.

She couldn’t handle that. She’d lost her handler, and now she’d lost Maria too.

Natalia made a quick stop into the armoury to pick up a Kalashnikov with a grim look on her face, ignoring the agent behind the sign-out sheet. He knew who she was.

Clint was well acquainted with the need to distract himself from something with a mission, and his eyes sported bags as dark as Natalia’s. He hadn’t let him eat, had worked him as hard as he could, but Clint had only eaten hospital food and Tony’s shawarma since - not even a sandwich, not even a cup of coffee.

He was waiting for Natalia at the airstrip, and she tumbled into his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder. They didn’t need to speak - Natalia could concede that Clint was still in recovery, was grieving for the agents he had killed, and she could even confess to herself that he had more of a claim to Coulson than she did.

Clint wouldn’t touch his bow, so he had brought his sniper rifle - and a Kalashnikov of his own - which intimidated the junior into signing over a quin, and they boarded together.

Natalia ceded the pilot’s seat to Clint without any fuss, but curled up in the copilot’s chair, staring blankly out of the window.

It was hours before they touched down in Sicily, and they stumbled out into the bright sunlight, Natalia squinting angrily, Clint shielding his eyes with his hand.

They weren’t exactly inconspicuous, but Natalia couldn’t bring herself to care, and Clint seemed to feel as miserable as she did.

Clint led her to a warehouse, and they paused outside the door. He cocked his gun, and cracked his neck and a grim smile.

“Go in blasting. We’re to take the branch down.”

Something in Natalia was darkly pleased that she didn’t have to hold back.

Clint kicked the door down, and they ran in, opening fire. There were a couple dozen men, and they returned fire - which made Natalia feel less bad about taking all of them down.

When she was younger, she had been raised to enjoy killing - and after the first wave, she dropped her gun to take them out personally, the way she’d been taught.

A few men got a few lucky shots, but they were mostly easy prey, and the last man standing slipped on the blood of his comrades, falling to the floor and leaving himself glaringly vulnerable. Natalia reached for a pistol to end him quickly, but found herself clutching at empty air as she realised she had left the Beretta back at base.

Clint was on the other side of the warehouse, and in the time it took Natalia to reach the hostile, he had shot her. She snapped his neck, but she felt no pleasure in it. She barely felt the bullet wound.

Natalia wiped her forehead, somewhat aware she was smearing blood on it, and joined up with Clint. The warehouse was riddled with bullet holes, as were both of them, but it was only a few grazes, no lodged bullets or even a through-and-through. There was something in Natalia that was disappointed.

Clint sighed when he saw her lift her shirt, and smacked her hand away.

“That last guy just nicked your side. You’re lucky he didn’t shoot a couple centimetres to the right, then he’d have shot right through your scar.”

His hearing aids had been knocked out in the fight, so Natalia just signed ‘lucky’ before turning away, and heading out of the back door, towards the sea. Clint jogged to catch up, grabbing her by the shoulder and falling into step beside her.

They had each brought their tac bags with them, and when they reached the beach, Clint left Natalia to run and grab them from the jet.

Natalia lay down on the sand, and felt something poking into her side. She sat up and reached into her pocket, to find a carved wooden hawk and a bracelet with a silver arrow hanging from it.

Clint had bought her a necklace with a silver arrow the first birthday she had spent with him and Phil, and she had refused to take it off for a month. She had bought the bracelet for him the day after her birthday, refusing to be in his debt, but had decided against giving it to him.

The hawk had been Phil. When they were in Iowa, Clint had been severely rattled by seeing his brother. Phil had come to pick them up, but Natalia had convinced him to stay another day with them. They had had a great time, and one of the things Phil had bought when they went shopping was the carved wooden hawk, out of sight of Clint. He had told Natalia not to mention it, that he just liked keeping a reminder of each of them with him. She had asked him what he kept for her, but he had just winked and grinned.

It had been in Phil’s jacket with his vintage cards, and Natalia had asked for it. It was a physical reminder of what she’d lost, that she wasn’t good enough, that she couldn’t save him.

Clint padded over and dumped the tac bags next to her. He had a fresh pair of ears in, and offered Natalia a weak smile.

“I packed booze.” She didn’t say a word, but reached for the vodka she knew he had brought, and took a deep swig.

“Happy birthday, Barton. You’ve lived for twenty eight years, and you’re not dead yet.”

They both winced.

“Not in particularly good taste. Sorry, Clint. I-” she swallowed her words. “I need you. I don’t want to be that girl again, I need to keep going, but I don’t know how to - how to _live_ without him.”

“We’re all going to miss him, Natty,” he reminded her gently. “I need you too. And- I think we probably shouldn’t push it, shouldn’t go out on mission for a bit.” He caught a glimpse of the items in her hands, and cocked his head. “What’s that?”

She unfurled her hand, and showed him the bird and the bracelet.

“I bought that one for you ages ago,” she spoke, pointing at the bracelet. “It matches my necklace. The other one was-” she swallowed, “it was Phil’s. He said he kept something to remind him of both of us, but I never knew what he kept for me. I thought you might like them.” She pressed them into Clint’s hand and turned her head, muttering “happy birthday” under her breath.

The sun had set, and vibrant colours painted the sky. Natasha was almost peaceful, until a shriek sounded from the warehouse.

They ran up the beach to see who it was, only to come face-to-face with Sharon’s wide-eyed stare.

“Natasha?” And then- “Clint?!”

Maria pushed past Sharon, only to stop and blink at Natasha, hurt flashing in her eyes.

“Nat, I thought I-”

“Masha.” Nat bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I-” She was cut off by someone else joining the party.

“Ex-cuse me?” Nat recognised the voice as Bobbi’s, and snorted. “Maria requested an op and Fury sent her, me, and Shar. Why are the wonder twins here?”

“I’m as confused as you, Bee,” Clint piped up, then snickered. “Bee. Heh.”

“Clint- Clint _stole_ a jet, and I _stole_ a Kalashnikov.” Nat spotted the wrinkle of confusion on Sharon’s brow and sighed dramatically. “An A-K-for-ty-sev-en, for you Americans.” Maria poked Nat in the shoulder, and looked bewildered at the snort that elicited.

“Are you two… drunk?”

“And I’m tactfully ignoring the bloodbath, Tash.” Nat turned her attention to Bobbi to shake her head, eyes wide.

“We’re very drunk, Masha, and Bobbi! Yes! That was us, but we were feeling sad, so that’s alright, right? C’mon, sestra, that’s alright, right?”

“I am very worried!” Maria’s voice was high and climbing higher, and Nat’s eyes widened impossibly further. “Because that is not alright! You- you yelled at me, and then I told you to leave - and you are a traumatised, young, dangerous woman, who’s just lost a father figure, and this is not alright! You’re upset and you cope with it by slaughtering people and then getting drunk! I-” she sniffed back tears, “I was worried about you. And this? I don’t know how to help with this.” Once Maria had finished speaking, Nat reached out, her bottom lip quivering, and brushed a tear from her face.

“I’m sorry! I was really mean! Masha, Masha, forgive me?”

Maria chuckled wetly, running a hand through her hair.

“Sure, honey. I forgive you. But please - come home? We can work this out together. No more roofs, no more blood, just you and me.”

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... they don't handle grief well.
> 
> Next chapter isn't much of an improvement, but we do focus more on Clint's trauma?
> 
> Anyway. We don't own any marvel characters or organisations.  
> \- lux :)


	20. Trondheim, Norway (23/10/2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Strike Team Delta was a shelved project, with their handler dead and Clint on forced leave, so Nat would probably be sent out with the other strike teams - or with her relatively new teammates, the Avengers._

Nat lay awake in the dark, tracing circles on her sleeping girlfriend’s hand. Things had been a little rocky between them, and there were still things that felt raw, that hurt to think about - even her old fears and pains hurt more, flared up more often. They both knew that they had hurt each other - said things they regretted, made accusations they couldn’t take back. There had been some painful conversations. But they loved each other, and they were both still willing to put in the effort to make it work.

They all had their own… well. “Coping mechanisms” was probably too generous. Maria was pushing her emotions down, trying to keep muscling her way through, and if that worked for her, Nat couldn’t judge. Clint was barely functioning - he still hadn’t processed the things he’d been made to do under Loki’s control, let alone the death of Phil, who had been a father figure to Clint most of all.

They all had their traumas - Maria and Clint could bond over their shared experiences with fathers, but Nat’s particular brand of trauma was both unusual and unique. All three of them terrified therapists, hated opening up, and had demanding jobs that meant they were exposed to death, torture and grievous bodily harm on a regular basis. They were perhaps the poster children for PTSD, and yet they refused help, and even refused to talk about it.

Nat had had a little over four months to process things, and she liked to think that she had got to a good place - well, a better place. Better than she had been when Clint had taken her in, and better than she had been directly after Phil’s death.

Maria put on a good show, but it took her hours to get to sleep - longer without Nat there - and when she did sleep, it wasn’t particularly restful. She would snap at subordinates more, and keep to herself, alone in her office.

Clint was in pieces. They hadn’t been allowed on any missions since, and he had spent his time getting quietly drunk, avoiding everyone and, one on occasion, spending a week with his cousin Laura on her farm. He spent hours standing under scalding showers, doing nothing. Nat had found him near comatose, shivering under boiling water more times than she ever wanted to.

It was late, and Maria was finally asleep, but Nat was still thinking, her head too busy for her to fall asleep any time soon. She had passed her psych eval the day before, which meant that she was cleared for missions, even if Clint wasn’t. Strike Team Delta was a shelved project, with their handler dead and Clint on forced leave, so Nat would probably be sent out with the other strike teams - or with her relatively new teammates, the Avengers.

It had been a couple of months since the Battle of New York, and she’d spent every Friday meeting with a psychologist and then having team dinner and movie night.

Clint had been conspicuously absent, but Nat was a professional liar and an excellent cover. She had started to like her new team mates, but she knew Clint would have mixed feelings, so she didn’t push.

No one had tried to be their handler, or micromanage them, or even just call them up now and again to see how they were getting on. The lack of someone to bring her sandwiches and text her after a rough day was a private ache, but one Clint, Maria, and even Sharon and Bobbi shared. The Avengers had never had that, and Pepper was the one managing their accounts, public presence and diplomatic appearances. Steve had been drafted into SHIELD by Fury when he’d been taken out of the ice, but Nat hadn’t seen him around - she had heard that Fury was taking a special interest in him, though.

The thought of Captain America was always going to make her think of Phil, and that hurt.

Bruce was quiet, mild mannered, and not great at listening but still kind and a good man. He would be a great friend, but after having to use honeypot methods to get him to join up, Nat had avoided him, feeling guilty and embarrassed.

Thor was gone. He had been unexpected, and she knew that Phil and Clint had worked with him more than she had, and he had seemed… arrogant. Manly. She was a little glad that he was gone; his absence meant she had one less person thrust on her.

Pepper and Tony had been her friends for over a year, and she was so glad to have them. Pepper had liked Phil, Tony had known how much they both liked him, and the couple were a steadfast source of comfort for Nat.

Maria and Clint relied on her, both refusing to open up to anyone else. It had shocked Nat that she would be the one to accept other people’s help, to be the one to open up, with her history, but she knew how badly her destructive habits had hurt Maria, how badly she had been dealing with life in the Red Room - and she didn’t want to be that person again.

She had listened to Bobbi ramble about scientific discovery, and sought out Jemma Simmons again to introduce her to Banner, and her partner Fitz to Tony. She had spent a week with Sharon, listening to her talk about her military history - and her family’s history - and even nicked Fury’s pager to call Carol and set the two of them up on a date. She had popped in to Fury’s office daily, actually, seeking his counsel - he was no match for Phil’s particular brand of paternal comfort, but Fury was softer in private, and letting him act the way Phil had had both hurt and helped.

Talking to other people had really helped Nat. Sure, she startled around some of the other agents, she caught herself thinking that she was alone, caught herself worrying about nobody missing her or being there for her, but expanding her social circle - expanding her support system - had helped her, had given her options for who to burden with her guilt and trauma.

Nat couldn’t stand the idea of loading her feelings onto Maria or Clint, because they already had so much to deal with. She only hoped they didn’t have the same attitude towards her.

Sometime in the middle of her meandering thoughts, she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, it was to the sun, and the other side of the bed was empty, but still warm.

Maria had probably woken earlier than usual and slipped away to get ready for the day. It wasn’t unusual for her to wake up before Nat, but she usually lingered - seeking a few minutes of relief before having to deal with real life.

Nat’s phone was on, and open to her texts, which was odd. She reached over for it and glanced blearily at the latest text from Pepper.

 **pepper:** first official mission for the avengers!!!!!!!!!!! :D :D don’t think clint’s coming, but get your gear and meet me at the tower!!!!!!!

Ah. That could have been what sent Maria away - Nat leaving, on mission, with the Avengers.

Separation, worry of danger, jealousy of different teammates… and Nat going on a mission without Phil in her ear.

There was nothing Nat could do about it, so she got dressed in her tac suit, loaded with Tony’s new Widow Bites, and holstered her Makarov… and the Beretta Maria had left in their weapons stack. Much as she was loath to take it away from her, she knew Maria wasn’t on active duty - and that gun had saved her life more times than she cared to count.

Nat didn’t bump into anyone she knew on her way to the newly named Avengers Tower, which meant that she didn’t have to explain why she was fully dressed up in tac gear when she wasn’t on an active strike team. She felt a little guilty about leaving without letting anyone know where she was going, so she pulled out her phone and left Clint and Fury texts - and then turned her phone off before she could see the reply.

 **clint:** i’m coming too, natasha.

Pepper was waiting for her in the lobby, two coffee cups in her hands, and grinned at the sight of Nat. She waved her through, past the metal detector rather than through it, and Nat was pleased not to feel anxious or scared at the sight of the device.

Therapy actually worked.

Pepper showed Nat to the fancy, new, _private_ elevators. She had taken the public lifts on Friday team nights, and being stuck in an enclosed space with a twitchy civilian that had seen her on the news and become subsequently terrified of her? Wasn’t the best feeling.

The private lifts didn’t have buttons, but instead had JARVIS installed in them - and were much faster than the commercial options. Nat smiled at the camera she imagined JARVIS watching them through, and thanked the British AI as she stepped out onto the helipad.

“It is my pleasure, Ms Rushman.” Nat smiled ruefully as she walked towards the Avengers gathered, Tony’s little programming error amusing her.

“Natashalie! If it isn’t my second favourite red head.” Tony himself popped open his faceplate to talk to her, and Nat grinned at him.

“C’mon, Pepper’s strawberry blonde. Totally doesn’t count.” She offered a jaunty wave to Steve and Bruce, noting Steve’s new uniform - and Bruce fiddling with a pair of sweatpants she hadn’t seen before, but assumed were the stretchy trousers Tony had threatened to make him.

“Natasha.” Steve’s greeting was respectful, as always, and Nat puched his shoulder playfully.

“You can call me Nat, Steve. It’s not the ‘40s. I won’t mind.” His blush was amusingly prompt, and Nat laughed, feeling freer than she had in a while. “Tony fix up the paintwork on that?”

Steve’s shield was brighter, less banged up than she’d seen it last, and at Tony’s proud affirmation, she smiled softly. Tony was a good friend, and she was so glad that his issues with Steve were being worked out.

Nat still had a secret she hadn’t told Steve - and it was one she wasn’t sure he’d forgive her keeping. After Odessa, she had sat with a sketch artist, and plugged the image of Yasha - of the _Winter Soldier_ \- into Google images, sure there was something she was missing.

And there was. Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. It didn’t make any sense that he had lived this long - he had hundreds of hits credited to him, and a rich history with the Red Room Natasha preferred not to dwell on - and she knew she had to keep it a secret from Steve. He was already bordering on depression and feeling massively displaced, there was no need to offer him hope, false or not, that his best friend may still be alive. And besides, the man was a killing machine.

At least she knew she wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

\-- __

_The feed from the cameras was grainy, but Nat could clearly see a man - badly disguised - who was clearly Tony Stark. He was purchasing something at a counter in a jewellery store that looked incredibly upscale. There was no audio, but after Tony shook hands with the cashier, he turned around - and the unmistakable shape of a ring box was caught on camera._

\--

Maria stood in the doorway to Fury’s office, scowling.

“Sir, with all due respect-”

“Sit _down,_ Hill.”

She moved forwards and sat down, looking mutinous.

“Hill - you’re level seven, and I know you were informed on the T.A.H.I.T.I project. It…. we had one success.”

A shadowy figure moved out of the darkness, around a corner, and smiled a familiar smile.

\--

_These cameras were high definition, and Nat could make out every detail of Steve’s dapper suit, his excited smile, his slicked back hair - in a style that was more in fashion in the ‘40s, but suited him well enough._

_Not only that, she could also make out every detail of the man he was having dinner with, and later, their chaste kiss._

_\--_

__No, she was not the only one keeping secrets. Of course, she knew Steve would tell them about his date when he was ready, and she was glad Tony was replacing the cheap ring he’d bought for Pepper six years ago, but it would have been nice to have been told those things.

Still, she was an expert at keeping secrets - her own and others - so she didn’t dare bring anything up in their conversation as they boarded the Avenjet, that was really just a knockoff Quin - not that she would ever say that to Tony.

“So, where are we headed?” she called to Tony and Steve, a little bitter that they got the front seats. Steve had moved into the Tower, as had Bruce, while her and Clint stayed in the SHIELD barracks. She had been considering moving somewhere else for a while, but after Phil died, she wanted to be near Maria - and even though she had a ready-made place rent free at the Tower, she didn’t want to leave her girlfriend. Regardless of her reasons, it meant that the other three were close, and got all the details of any potential missions far before her.

“Trondheim, Norway!” Tony called back, snapping her out of her musings. “But it’s a diplomatic mission, so no snapping necks.”

Nat frowned, and glanced again at the boys in the front seats.

“I’m in my tac suit. Bruce is ready for a Code Green. You’re literally in your armour! Steve is lugging around a patriotic frisbee! Why are we dressed like this for a diplomatic mission?”

Tony sighed loudly, and Steve muffled a snort. Nat had no qualms whatsoever about dissing his outfit - it came from a comic book, for god’s sake!

“Well, Tash - it is a diplomatic mission, but we still want to put on a show of strength. We’re trying to dissolve a conflict between Finland and Norway that’s using American money - and because it might come to blows, we’ve got me, the philanthropist, you, the charmer, Bruce, the peacekeeper, and Steve, the big strong guy.”

Nat shook her head, unused to how political struggles were usually settled without a honeypot mission or an assassination.

“So it’s not a honeypot mission? Cause Maria doesn’t like me doing those.”

Tony snickered, and Steve glanced back to give Nat an adorable confused look, like a lost puppy.

“What’s a honeypot mission?”

This time it was Bruce who spoke up - obviously still a _tiny_ bit bitter about Kolkata.

“It’s when she goes in and seduces her mark - for information, cooperation, or just to make them easier to kill, I guess.”

Nat hid her flinch, and put out a sharp grin.

“They don’t call me Black Widow for nothing.”

Steve wisely shut up about the matter, and went back to flying the plane. Nat frowned, cocking her head. Steve was flying the plane.

“Uh… Steve, last time you flew a plane you crashed. In the Arctic. And got frozen for seventy years. Did you ever actually get any qualifications? Who let you fly?”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, and he dropped the controls, spinning his chair around to face Nat.

“JARVIS is flying. We’re on autopilot all the way there. And… uh, no. I never did get qualified.”

Nat raised an unimpressed eyebrow and got up from her seat, pushing Steve out so she could curl up in the pilot’s chair.

“As the only one of us who actually knows how to fly this thing, I am claiming this spot.”

She reviewed the gauges and screens with a practised eye, nodding to herself, and flashed a brief glance out of the window. There was a flash of… something, but when she checked on the radar, there was nothing there. She dismissed it as nothing, a trick of the light, but resolved to keep checking the radar on the journey there.

Nothing had popped up by the time they landed, but Nat was sure something was up. She had seen discrepancies in the sky before them a few times on their way to Scandinavia, and as she guided the plane onto the landing strip, she eyed the sky above them warily until Tony clapped her on the shoulder.

“C’mon, Nat, let’s go chat up some politicians.”

The first meeting went well, and the group checked in to their hotel with a sense of relief. They were due to sit in on the full summit of Scandinavian leaders tomorrow, but there would be no need for them to be in their gear - the main issue had been resolved, and all that was left was to clear up loose ends.

Nat dumped her things in her hotel room, and went around securing it with tricks Clint had taught her - and some from her time as the Red Death, too. Once she was certain no one would get in - and that she would know if they had - she set out on a walk, ostensibly to take in the scenery.

The other three were safely ensconced in their rooms, so Nat returned to the airfield first - only to find her suspicions absolutely correct. Someone had parked a Quin near the airfield, tucked only slightly out of sight behind a few metres of tree cover. Nat pulled out her phone to call Maria and ask what it was doing there, only to find two missed calls from her - and a text from Clint.

Swearing aloud, but in Russian, Nat broke off in a run towards the jet, worried Clint had done something rash. It was cold in Norway - it had snowed the day before they landed, and the trees were tipped with downy white - and Nat knew how the cold affected Clint nowadays.

Loki was a frost giant, a Jotun, and his magic was cold as well. While Clint had been under his control, he hadn’t been allowed to eat, to drink, even to sleep - and the whole time, he was trapped inside his own mind, held fast within Loki’s icy grip. He had been made to break into the helicarrier, made to shoot at the agents he worked with, and made to do it with a smile on his face.

He didn’t like to talk about it much, but Nat knew that he remembered every second of it, and that he hated himself for not breaking free, for not being able to stop Loki, to save Phil. He blamed himself, and while Nat knew it wasn’t his fault, she also knew she would feel the same in his position.

But if Clint had landed in Trondheim, in the snow and biting winds, he would feel that icy chill, and think he was right back there again.

When Nat reached the Quinjet, the door was open, but Clint wasn’t inside. Instead, she found him shivering and glassy-eyed, hugging his knees and deadly silent.

She picked him up, slipped her jacket around him, held him tight until the shivering subsided. She proceeded to rant at him for a good few minutes, clutching him to her with worry.

Clint was silent, but he managed a breathy chuckle at some of Nat’s incensed points, and she considered that a success.

The Avengers had been dying to meet Clint. Nat knew he had some personal hang-ups, some worry that they would see him as no more than what he’d done under Loki’s control, but she was sure they had moved past that - and there was no time like the present for them to finally meet up.

Nat hauled Clint to the hotel, turned the heating up far higher than she was comfortable with, and popped in to the boys’ rooms to tell them that they had a fifth member of the team.

Of course, Clint was still supposed to be on administrative leave, but Nat didn’t have the heart to send him back now. She would make sure he was coping better, drag him to team dinner and movie nights, keep him off missions - but for the moment, she needed to give him some friends.

The other three followed behind her as she cracked open the door to her room, pleased to find that Clint had turned the heating down a little, and ushered the others in.

“Great to see you, man,” Tony started, flashing a grin at Clint. “You been avoiding us? We’ve got your place at the Tower lined up for whenever, and Tash insists on letting you choose the next film for movie night.”

Clint smiled, a real smile, and Nat inwardly punched the air in success.

“I heard you grew up in a circus? I loved the circus when I was a kid, but they have all sorts of safety restrictions nowadays. We used to be able to pet the tigers, but that was the ‘40s. I guess it’s not something most people miss.”

“How about you, big guy? You ever seen the circus?” Tony turned to Bruce, curious.

“No, but I always kinda wanted to. I went to a reenactment of a gladiator fight once, that was cool.” He paused to think. “Hey, d’you think they have circuses on Asgard? I wonder if Thor’s ever been.”

Nat moved backwards to hop onto her bed next to Clint, and offered him a warm smile and a friendly nudge.

“They’re not so bad, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Hope this is worth it - I love the team dynamic of the Avengers and I thought we needed a chapter with them before returning to Nat and her closer family.
> 
> Obviously I don't own any of Marvel's characters or organisations!  
> -lux :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of a 26 chapter fic of strike team delta's missions. Point of view will mostly be Nat, with some Clint, Maria and Bucky. Hope you enjoy.  
> Obviously I don't own any characters/organisations here, I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.  
> -lux


End file.
